His Father's Son
by Legitimate Tough Guy 2
Summary: "Everyone saw Taylor as a stone cold killer, and that's exactly what he was. There was no denying it; he couldn't pretend anymore. He was his father's son."
1. FURY

**October 1983.**

The air was crisp and cool that night in Brooklyn, New York. Though it was pushing midnight, the city was still thriving as if it were mid-day. People were walking and bicycling, cars were rushing by. A light showed through the windows of nearly every apartment building. The small corner stores and restaurants were still open and lit up, with their neon signs blinking. People were honking, they were yelling. _'It's a fuckin' green light!' 'Watch where you're goin'!'_ The sound of shattered glass echoed in an alleyway. Police sirens began whooing. It was as if nobody slept in Brownsville.

That much was true for Alberto Reese and his son, Taylor. Despite the hour, the two were down in a spacious basement. There were a work-out bench and a dumbbell rack in the corner off to the left. There were some cardboard boxes along the wall, filled with exercise equipment and other random items that'd been stored there for the time being. There were a couple medicine balls off to the right, just beside a rolled-up exercise matt and a treadmill.

"Yeah, that's it, Taylor," said Alberto in his deep, gruff voice. He was a big and muscular man; tall and menacing. He had dark hair that was slicked back. His jaw was wide and tight and there was a look in his eyes that would make anyone uneasy; he looked capable of lashing out at any given moment. He looked furious, even in that basement alone with his son, and that was one of the reasons he was given the nick-name "Fury". He was just as ferocious as he appeared to be; he was a mafia soldier and a good one at that. He had beaten and killed more men than he'd ever hugged; maybe more than he'd even shaken hands with. The guy was a stone-cold goomba, and at that moment, he was teaching his ten-year-old son the proper way to fight. He stood behind a black punching bag that hung from the ceiling and held it still as the young boy, Taylor, swung his fists.

Even at ten years old, Taylor was nearly as frightening as his father. He looked older than he was, mostly because of his height and the amount of muscle he already had, but also because of the dead look in his dark eyes. There was no child-like innocence to be seen as he used a gloved fist to punch the bag straight on with his left and then hit it from the side with his right.

"Bend the knees a little more," Alberto said, and Taylor obliged. He bent his knees slightly and hit it again.

"Good," Alberto complimented.

Taylor hit the bag over and over. He clenched his teeth as he took a hold of the sides of the bag and gave it a knee. It wasn't something his father had taught him, but something he'd learned in school when a kid who went by the name of Trevon Wilson had called him a 'dirty Jew'. Taylor had kneed him right in the balls then brought a closed fist to his upturned nose, sending the kid to the floor, groaning. And that's what Taylor was imagining then; he was pretending to give it to the boy all over again.

Alberto let go of the bag and crossed his arms over his chest as he watched Taylor go to town. He watched as his son punched, kicked, head-butted, kneed, elbowed. He was just as much of a machine as his old man. Finally, Taylor delivered one last punch and then he let his arms fall down to his sides. Slowly he relaxed his jaw, staring at the bag a moment longer before looking up at his father.

"Not too bad, kid," Alberto responded. Taylor watched as his pop looked at his watch; a gold Rolex.

"Shit," his dad then said. "I gotta go. Get to bed."

Taylor nodded then began taking off his gloves as his father went upstairs. He followed soon after, said goodnight to his mother as she was watching TV, and then he passed the small hallway leading to the door of the house on the way to his room. His father had changed into a black suit, a white undershirt, and a black fedora. Taylor watched as he pulled his coat to the side and looked down at his right hip. There in its' holster was a weapon, a pistol.

_'Automag .44 Magnum,'_ thought Taylor. He'd been introduced to quite a few guns by his old man.

Alberto clenched his jaw and let his coat fall back to his side, then took a hold of the knob and turned it, pushing the door open and stepping out into the night.

Taylor walked over to his room and flicked the switch, turning the light on. There was a poster of Muhammad Ali up on the wall beside a signed pair of boxing gloves. There was a basketball in the corner of the room, some clothes scattered across the floor. Just as he was preparing to get out of his tank top and exercise shorts, to get into his pajamas, he suddenly heard the sound of gunshots from outside his window. He froze as he heard a grunt, his dad's it sounded like, and the screeching of tires. Panic began to well up inside Taylor.

_'This is it,'_ Taylor thought, remembering how only a few weeks ago, his father had come to him and warned him.

_'I might not always be here,'_ he'd said. _'In my line of work, survival isn't guaranteed, and what're you gonna do then? We gotta toughen you up. Make a man outta you.'_

Taylor's eyes widened and his chest tightened; he quickly ran over to the window and lifted the shade. He looked outside and he saw none other than his father, lying there on the sidewalk.

Taylor couldn't feel his limbs; his tingling legs nearly buckled on him. He couldn't think; his head spun as if he were running around in circles. His heart was pounding mercilessly; he could feel it thumping throughout his entire body. His lungs felt too small; as if every breath he took in was not enough. Nothing in the world existed at that moment but horror as his father writhed on the ground, clutching at his chest.

The same word repeated in Taylor's head, over and over again.

_'Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!'_

Taylor watched as his short and thin mother, Danya Reese, run out of the house and over to his father. She was screaming; at Alberto, for help, for HaShem (God). She pressed her hands against Alberto's chest in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Taylor could hardly process his own urgency; he wanted to run outside, help his father, but he felt as if he were cemented to the floor. He went pale as his father's blood rushed past his mother's fingers. He saw his father, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water; struggling to speak. Though instead of words spilling past his lips, there was only more blood. Danya brought her hands to Alberto's face.

"Stay with me, don't you die on me! Don't you dare! HELP! Somebody HELP!" she screamed. She looked around, then over at Taylor's window, and their dark eyes met. That was when Taylor was finally able to move. His legs felt like rubber, but her pleading eyes had been the drive he needed, to run as fast as he could out of his room, out of the house and over to his parents.

Alberto was staring blindly up at the sky by the time Taylor made it over to them. His father's lips were parted and he was neither moving nor blinking. There was blood running out of his mouth and down the side of his face and his white dress-up shirt was soaked with red. Danya held him in her arms and began rocking back and forth, weeping and screaming and praying.

Taylor couldn't hear any of it. All he could see was his dad's lifeless eyes, staring up at the sky. All he could see was the blood, running down his cheek. There was a muffled voice but he couldn't hear it. Not until his mother rested her hand on his arm.

Taylor quickly looked from his father to his mother's hand, which was covered in blood. She smeared it on Taylor's arm as she yelled, and it felt like fire against his skin.

"Taylor, call 911!"

Taylor looked from the blood to her eyes, taking a minute to sort out what it was she said before turning around and running back into the house.

In the kitchen, he ran over to the phone, taking it off the hook and dialing 911. As soon as they answered, he frantically began to speak.

"My, my pop...! He's been, he's been shot, he's -" he began.

"Slow down, slow down," said the man on the other end.

"I don't know if he's - !" Taylor went on.

"Calm down, take a breath kid. Give me an address."

"925 Rockaway Ave. Hurry!" Taylor yelled, hanging up immediately after.

* * *

A black body bag was zipped up. The police were parked before the house, as well as an ambulance and the coroner.

Danya was asked questions. She had her arms wrapped around herself as she explained what happened in between shaky breaths. She began to cry and fell down onto her knees, hiding her face in her hands.

Taylor stood in the doorway; very still as he watched the scene play out before him. He came in and out of reality. In one minute, he was there; hearing everything, seeing everything clearly. Words like "died" and "too late" came through, and then suddenly his vision would blur, and sound would fade away. He was ghost-white and there was a hollowness in his brown eyes.

"Sorry about your dad."

Taylor blinked and looked over at the policeman who was stepping nearer to him, looking sympathetic and holding his hat in his hands. He took a step closer and went to rest his hand on Taylor's shoulder, but Taylor shoved it away.

"Sure you are. You fuckers been houndin' him for months. You're prolly glad he's gone," Taylor said. He took one last look at the body bag as it was loaded into the truck.

_'Gone. He's gone. He's dead, and he ain't never comin' back.'_

Taylor turned around and went back into the house. He made his way down to the basement, and he wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because it was the last place he'd seen his father alive. He was breathless and filled with anger stronger than he'd ever experienced. There was hatred in him; for the policemen, for the coroner, and especially for whoever had delivered the shots and killed his old man. He looked over at the punchbag and strode over to it, neither putting on his gloves nor turning on the light. He instantly began swinging. His wrists and knuckles stung; he felt the sting all the way up to his forearms and to his shoulders each time he made contact but he didn't care. The ache in his chest, the rush of emotion, was too much for him to handle. He needed to release it. Things escalated quickly to the point that he was growling and grunting, bellowing in agony.

_'Those mother fuckers!'_ he thought, and he imagined men with suits, hats, and guns as he pounded it. He released all of his fury onto that bag.

He wasn't sure how long he went like that, but some time later, his mother came downstairs.

"Taylor?" she asked, sniffing. Taylor ignored her and kept punching, sweat pouring from his forehead and running down his face. His knuckles were swollen, bleeding and bruised.

"Taylor, stop!" she cried, and she ran over to her son, pulling him back. Taylor shrugged her off and continued pounding.

"Stop it, Taylor, you're hurting yourself!" she yelled. Taylor was pulled back once more, but he still didn't respond, nor did he look at his mother. He only proceeded with hitting the punchbag.

"Taylor!" his mother shrieked; she wasn't letting up, and Taylor turned around, to tell her to leave him alone, but she slapped him hard across the face. It wasn't the pain that snapped him out of it, but the fact that his mother had slapped him; she'd not once laid a hand on him, and he became all-too-aware of the fact that his mother was in just as much pain as he was. He steadied his breathing and uncurled his fists, lowering his head and looking down at the floor. Slowly the rage diminished and all that remained was devastating grief.

"Sorry, ma," he said, his voice soft.

"It's not your fault, Taylor," she said, and then she stepped forward and hugged her son. Taylor hesitated before hugging her back. It didn't take long for her to start sobbing loudly into his shoulder. It took all of Taylor's strength not to break down along with her, but his father had taught him that a real man didn't show weakness. A real man was strong, a fighter, and didn't ever give in. So instead of falling apart, Taylor patted his mother's back supportively.


	2. SEVEN-ELEVEN

**November 1999.**

**Three months after returning to New York from Montana.**

Taylor stood in the aisle of a 7-Eleven on one of the roughest streets in Brooklyn. He wore the usual expressionless look on his face as he knelt over a cardboard box. He reached into his jeans' pocket and pulled out a razor blade, which he used to open the box, revealing a bunch of cans of soup covered in plastic. He cut the plastic, tore it apart, put the razor back in his pocket and stood up straight with a few cans of soup in hand. He took one can, checked the expiration date, and then set it down on the shelf in its proper spot.

He wore a t-shirt that read '7-Eleven' and he felt ridiculous, but this was his job, and he was lucky to have had one at all.

Taylor had done as Matty did and left the whole mobster life behind, but with his criminal record, being on parole, and his last name, it hadn't been easy to find a regular job. He'd tried over fifteen spots in Brooklyn - gas stations and bodegas - and had been turned down by all of them. The manager at that particular 7-11 only hired him out of desperation, and Taylor didn't understand how a 7-11 in the middle of Brooklyn was desperate for employees until he started working there. It became clear over time that it was because nobody could tolerate the ill-mannered boss.

"Reese!"

And there he was. The manager, Michael Gonzalez; an over-weight Spanish man a little older than Taylor. Taylor raised a brow and turned his head, looking over at him.

"You're still stocking?" Gonzalez asked in his Spanish accent, squinting at Taylor; irritation and annoyance in his voice.

"Just got here ten minutes ago," Taylor rumbled.

"Well, hold off a minute on the stocking, and get your ass in the bathroom. A customer complained that the toilet's not flushing and I just went in there and it's a fucking disaster," the man said.

Taylor pressed his lips together and made his way to the bathroom, and it was clear that nobody working there had touched it over the two days Taylor had off. The walls were written and drawn on ('suck my dick', phone numbers, drawings of penises and boobs could be seen) and they were stained with the worst you could imagine. The trash was so full that it was spilling out onto the floor; there was a banana peel in the corner and a used condom just behind the toilet. It smelled just about as good as it looked.

Taylor went over to the toilet, and because it hadn't been flushing, it was nearly filled to the brim with waste.

"Jesus," Taylor sighed, looking down at the toilet with dismay.

Taylor went to the back and found a pair of yellow, rubber gloves; then, he went to work. He removed most of what was left in the toilet, which had been just about the most disgusting thing he'd done in his life, and then lifted the tank lid to inspect. It turned out someone had messed with the lift chain and it'd come off the flapper.

_'All of this and it's just the fuckin' chain,'_ Taylor thought. _'Fuckin' idiots.'_

"Reese! Come on, hurry up!"

Taylor's heart started pounding in his chest at the sound of Gonzalez's voice; like nails on a chalkboard. He envisioned taking the tank lid and smashing it on the tiled floor, but he held himself back. He reminded himself how difficult it had been to get a job; he couldn't risk getting fired.

It left a bad taste in Taylor's mouth, knowing that Gonzalez was aware of that and it was probably why he had no issue pushing Taylor around in the first place.

"Come on! You have to get back to stocking, what are you doing?! We can't have you back here while there are customers out there looking for items that are nowhere to be found! We're losing money!" Gonzalez went on, hands flailing and spit spewing from his mouth.

"Just doin' what you told me to," Taylor responded, refusing to make eye contact with the older man. Both because he was in the middle of trying to reattach the chain, but also because he knew if he looked at the man, he might do something he'd regret.

"Yeah, well, I can't be following you around, I have to watch the register! You should know what to do by now!" Gonzalez continued.

"Ya want the toilet fixed or not?" Taylor snapped, and this time he raised his head, to give Gonzalez a threatening look.

"Keep doing what you're doing. Just do it faster," Gonzalez ordered.

"Takes as long as it takes," Taylor said, as patiently as he could.

"No, it takes as long as I tell you to take. I'm giving you five minutes to finish it up in here," Gonzalez said and with that, he turned around and left.

_'I'm gonna kill this fuck,'_ Taylor thought, gritting his teeth together.

After fixing the chain, Taylor was able to flush the toilet. He proceeded with getting the toilet brush, and he started scrubbing away at the inside of the bowl. It took no longer than five minutes before he heard that voice once again calling out to him.

"You better be finished, or I'm-" Gonzalez began, and the remainder of Taylor's patience was thrown out the window.

"For fuck's sake, let me do my job!" he yelled. It wasn't enough that he was in the middle of dealing with literal shit, he had to deal with this guy's shit too, and he was done.

"Excuse me?" Gonzalez asked, brows raised and arms crossed over his chest.

"Let me do my job!" Taylor repeated, not one to back down. "I'd get it done a lot faster if you weren't breathin' down my neck every five fuckin' minutes!"

Taylor knew he was pushing it, but at that point, it was becoming hard to care. He'd been dealing with this for the past three weeks and he was reaching his breaking point.

"I wouldn't have to check on you every five minutes if you were doing things right!" Gonzalez retorted; face red and sweaty. When Taylor didn't respond, Gonzalez leaned back and shook his head back and forth, running his hand across his mouth.

"I knew I shouldn't have hired you. You know, my father warned me about you, said you'd be trouble. Guys like you don't know the meaning of hard work. You get everything handed to you, by striking fear into people. But I'm not scared of you. I'm not caving. I'm going to give it to you straight, and I'm going to tell you, that a fucking monkey could work faster than you! So quit whacking off or I'm -"

"That's it!" Taylor bellowed, and he rushed toward Gonzalez and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. The mistreatment, the disrespect - Taylor couldn't take it anymore. He'd never let anyone walk all over him before and he wasn't going to start now; he'd had it with Gonzalez and he was going to show the man who he was really dealing with.

"Woah, woah! Hey! What're you doing, man?! Let me go, mother fu-" Gonzalez cried, but Taylor pulled him into the bathroom and shoved his face down into the bowl of the toilet. Gonzalez's speech turned to bubbles, incomprehensible, as he struggled to get free. Taylor waited a long thirty seconds before he pulled the man's head back by his black, curly hair.

"Wish you let me do my job now, fucker?!" Taylor roared.

"¡Detener! ¡Detener! (Stop! Stop!)" Gonzalez shrieked, reverting to his first language in his fear as he gasped for breath.

Taylor shoved Gonzalez's face into the toilet one more time before pulling him out and throwing him against the trash barrel. It fell over, spilling its contents onto the floor and Gonzalez. Taylor took his rubber gloves off and threw them at the disheveled man.

"Get outta my store, culo! You're fired, don't come back, ever! I see your face ever again, and I'll call the police!" Gonzalez cried.

Taylor couldn't have left the store fast enough; swiping his hand across the counter and bringing gum, lighters and Slim Jims to the floor on his way out.


	3. QUEEN

It was around eight-thirty at night. Taylor was in his black Dodge Ram van, driving down a decent street in Brooklyn Heights. He wore a leather jacket (nearly identical to the one he'd gotten shot in by Teddy in Montana), his Star of David necklace and a couple rings with the same symbol etched into them.

He pulled up to the sidewalk, just in front of a nice brick apartment building with a white stoop, and parked.

He was home.

He shut the van off and got out, stepping up the stairs and passing through the door. He went through the hall and up to the second floor; his floor. Once standing before the door, he reached out, turned the knob (the door was unlocked) and pushed it open.

He stepped into the living room. In the middle of the room was a black, leather couch and coffee table with a 46" widescreen TV in front of it. To the right, just beside the door, was a matching leather chair and another table; a smaller one. On top of it was a black candle, a black ashtray with a cigar in it, and a telephone. A college diploma was framed and hung up on the wall behind the chair, and beside it was a black and white, signed photo of Thurman Munson.

To the left of the door was a bedroom; you could see a bed with tan sheets and pillows as you passed by. Then behind the TV to the right, was the bathroom. And behind the TV, to the left, was a hallway which lead to another bedroom, an exercise room, and the kitchen. The walls were beige with some fancy white molding, the floors were all wooden except for in the bathroom and kitchen, where there were tiles.

At that moment, the 46" flat screen television was on the sports channel, which could only mean one thing.

_What an inning for the Yanks!_ could be heard on the TV as Taylor shut the door behind him. With the thud of the closing door, the TV was muted. A black-haired man stood up from the couch and turned around.

Matty Lamberti (formerly known as Matty Demaret). He smiled from ear to ear, revealing his bright white teeth. The corners of his gray-blue eyes creased as he looked at Taylor and walked over to him. He wore a black sweater and blue jeans with nothing on his feet.

"Taylorrr!" Matty said, holding his arms out. His excitement at seeing Taylor was obvious and it brought a smile to Taylor's face. Matty stepped close and playfully jabbed at the air with mock body punches, then wrapped his arms around Taylor in a hug. His friend was clearly in a good mood. Taylor hugged him back.

"Missed you," Matty said, his voice soft, and there was a feeling in Taylor's chest that was so unlike what he was used to that he almost became uncomfortable. He couldn't decide whether he wanted to hold on tighter or flee.

He awkwardly asked:

"Yeah?" before adding "How was your first day?"

They parted and Matty put a hand in his pocket, using the other expressively as he talked.

"You know, workin' at Modell's... it's not so bad. I mean, I never run outta things to talk to the customers about. And it's kinda nice, you know... People lookin' at me like I'm a regular guy. Either way, it's temporary, just like I told ya. A few years from now, those Sports' Agencies will have forgotten all about me. Right? I mean, who's gonna remember one interview? Even if one of 'em does remember, it's onto the next, till I find one who doesn't. I'm tellin' you, changing my last name, takin' Gianda's off the resume... it was the best thing I coulda done. I shoulda done it a long time ago," Matty said.

"Now you can put that shit behind you for good," Taylor responded.

"Yeah," Matty said. "So, you hungry?"

"Fuckin' starvin'," Taylor answered.

Matty laughed, bowing his head.

"Alright, then. Let's get ready and get the fuck outta here."

* * *

A black 1999 Mercedes-Benz SL600 (the car Matty bought to replace the Cadillac) pulled up to the curb, just in front of "Queen", an Italian restaurant on Court Street in Brooklyn. On the radio was the song "Barrel of a Gun" by Depeche Mode. Taylor didn't care much for it, but he didn't hate it either.

_Whatever I've done, I've been starin' down the barrel of a gun_, were the lyrics that could be heard before Matty shut the car off. He got out of the drivers' side while Taylor got out of the passengers'. Matty wore a black trench coat, black slacks, and a burgundy-colored button-down while Taylor wore a black coat, a royal blue button-down, and black jeans. Taylor waited beside the car for Matty as the slender man walked past the front of the car and over to the sidewalk. Once side by side, the two walked together towards the restaurant's entrance. Taylor held the door open for Matty, who patted his back as a 'thanks' on the way in.

* * *

Queen was a very comfortable yet fancy restaurant. Piano music filled the room as well as soft chatter. The room glowed warmly from the dim lighting. Matty and Taylor sat at one of the circular tables in the far corner of the main room. Matty ate minestrone while Taylor had lasagna. Both had a glass of Chianti set beside their plates.

Matty was talking in between eating. Taylor often didn't say much as he ate but fortunately for him, Matty spoke enough that he didn't have to respond right away.

"Me and Pauly, my boss, we got to talkin' about Thurman Munson. The guy knows nearly as much as I do. I told him about my signed picture, ya know, the one in the living room? I don't think he believed me!" Matty said, hands out by his sides and a smile on his face. "If I'd a told him that I was a Demaret, he wouldna bat an eye."

Matty took the glass of wine in his hand and looked down at it, shaking his head back and forth in disbelief.

"It's different, I'll tell ya that much," Matty said, taking a sip. Taylor swallowed and took his glass in his hand.

"Different, but better," he replied, watching as Matty leaned back in his seat. "You made the right choice, Matty. Movin' on," he added.

Matty blinked rapidly and nodded, clenching his jaw.

"Yeah. Yeah, you too," he said, softly. It was quiet for a moment and Taylor had the feeling that Matty was remembering that day; the morning he'd told his father, Benny Chains, that he wanted nothing to do with the mob. When both had decided to start over.

The two sipped their wine simultaneously before Matty continued.

"So what about you? How was work?" he asked, looking Taylor up and down with curiosity. Matty knew Taylor worked at 7-Eleven and had been less than pleased when he found out Taylor was being mistreated. He had told Taylor not to worry about it, to quit; that he'd take care of him, but Taylor refused. While Taylor appreciated Matty's generosity, the idea of his friend taking care of him was also far from appealing, and Matty understood that.

Taylor frowned and put his glass down, taking his fork back into his hand. He looked down at his plate just so he wouldn't have to meet Matty's gaze.

"Gotta find somethin' else," Taylor said; saying but not saying that he'd lost it. "But I'm not expectin' much."

"Hey, whatever happens, I've got you," Matty reminded.

"Shit, you know," he continued, and there was a look on his face that said he'd just had an idea. "They're lookin' for a cashier at Modell's. Mornings. I could put in a good word for you if you're havin' a tough time finding somethin'."

Taylor imagined working at Modell's; he thought of some big-mouthed customer coming in, acting like he owned the place. He thought of this guy trash-talking him, or worse, trash-talking Matty. He pictured pummeling this nameless man to the floor, leaving his face a bloody mess.

It wasn't too far off from what had happened at the 7-Eleven earlier that day. He just couldn't stand for it. He couldn't stand people in general, aside from a select few. Fewer now that Marbles and Scarpa had been killed, and even they had gotten on Taylor's nerves more often than not. The only person he could really, truly tolerate, and enjoyed being around, was Matty (and his mother, occasionally, but she was a nagger and stressed Taylor out with her constant questioning).

Being around people all day, working in customer care, was just about the last thing Taylor wanted to do. Not just that, but he was sure that someone would set him off, and that once they did, once he lashed out at whoever it was, not only would he lose the job, but so would Matty. He didn't want to take Matty down with him. Matty had a good thing going now and he didn't want to ruin that.

That was if this Pauly guy would even be willing to let him in in the first place, which was unlikely.

"I know, I know what you're thinkin', but hear me out," Matty said, pulling Taylor out of his thoughts. "I could get you in, Taylor. Pauly likes me, it'd be no problem. You wouldn't have to worry about gettin' fucked over, either. Not to mention it's the easiest job in the world."

Taylor shrugged. He wanted to tell him, _'it's not gonna work'_, but couldn't bring himself to disappoint his friend. He was quiet as he thought of the words to say.

"Just sayin'," Matty said before he was able. "It's worth a shot. Think about it."

Taylor pressed his lips together and let go of his fork. He was done eating, anyway. He picked up his Chianti instead.

"I'll think about it," Taylor said, taking a sip.


	4. LONG-TERM FRIENDSHIP

**May 1989.**

**Ten years ago.**

It was around three in the morning. The moon was full, the city was bright and beautiful along the horizon. Taylor Reese was sixteen years old. He had about an inch of curly, black hair with a goatee and at that moment was wearing a gray hoodie and a pair of jeans. He was tall, lean and muscular.

Though Brooklyn Bridge Park was closed by that hour, Taylor was there. He was never really one who cared to follow the rules, and he had difficulty sleeping most nights. He was sitting on a rock wall by the water, just under the Brooklyn Bridge; waiting. He brought a cigarette to his lips, took a drag, exhaled and lowered it; eyes on the city as he thought. Often, when Taylor was alone, his mind would wander, and he was never really much a fan of it. It was like all of a sudden, it all caught up with him, all at once. His father bleeding out on the street. The kid whose skull he'd cracked a few days ago. Paul Moretti, the man whose life he'd taken with a few bullets the night before.

Taylor was relieved when he finally heard the voice of fourteen-year-old Matty Demaret.

"Taylor?"

"Right here," Taylor responded, and he looked over at Matty. The city, the lights, the moon, all helped to illuminate Matty and Taylor didn't have much of an issue seeing the grave look on his friend's face as he rounded the corner. After Benny Chains had been sent to jail, Matty rarely smiled, and Taylor could relate; he knew the pain that came with losing a father. And Matty hadn't just lost his father; he'd also lost his mother to cancer a few years before that.

There was something else that happened too after his father was sent to jail, but Taylor had never pressurized Matty into talking about it. It came out in tidbits, a small piece of information every now and again. Matty mentioned a basement one time, mentioned it was a Vesuvio's basement another. Mentioned that Teddy Deserve had brought him there. That was about it. He never went into detail, but Taylor had an idea as to what might have happened.

Matty took a bag off his shoulder before sitting beside Taylor. Matty always sat so close; his entire side pressing against Taylor's, from shoulder to shoe.

"Brought somethin'," Matty said, and he unzipped the bag and took out of it a bottle of whiskey. Matty wasn't much of a rule-follower, either.

After opening the bottle, Matty took a swig, and Taylor heard him try and hold back a hiss. He then handed the whiskey over to Taylor, who traded it for his cigarette.

Matty looked over at the city thoughtfully as he blew out a puff of smoke. Taylor wondered what Matty thought of; his father? Whatever happened in that basement? He knew that if Matty wanted to talk about it, he would; and Taylor would be there for it when and if he did.

Taylor took a sip of the liquor then handed it back to his friend, who gave him the cigarette.

An hour later and Taylor's limbs were numb. His mind was foggy, his vision blurred. There was a peace that came with his state; he couldn't think, didn't really feel like he was even there. They'd ended up drinking nearly the entire bottle and started up on a third cigarette.

"Ever miss your old man?" Matty asked. Usually Matty was quiet about that sort of thing, about his feelings, about his pop. About anything, really. He was much like Taylor in the sense that he held it in, held it back; there was a feeling of vulnerability, a feeling of weakness, that came with the admittance of any sort of emotion. And maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the nicotine; maybe it was the feeling of safety that came with being with one another, but walls were lowered. Guards were let down.

"Yeah," Taylor confessed. "You?"

It wasn't that Taylor didn't know the answer to that; of course Matty missed his father. Anyone would. But he asked because he knew that there was something in Matty that wanted to come out.

"Yeah," Matty responded.

"At least you got Teddy," Taylor said. He wanted to remind his friend that he wasn't alone, that he still had people in his life. He, of course, would always be there for Matty; but he knew Matty was already fully aware of that fact. He didn't have to say it. After he was sent to the hospital with a stab wound, because someone had been hounding Matty and he went ape on them, he felt it was obvious.

Matty hesitated for a long while. He took another sip of whiskey, and it looked like he was drinking water it went down so smooth. Taylor's tongue was just as numb. He kept his eyes on his black-haired companion, watching as Matty bowed his head before handing the bottle back over.

"I let him down. Let both of 'em down," Matty said, softly. The self-loathing was radiating off of him, thick as molasses.

"Whatcha talkin' about?" Taylor asked.

"I'll never be like them," Matty responded.

Taylor was quiet as he pondered over that statement. He understood where Matty's disappointment in himself came from. His own father, back when he was alive, used to scold Taylor for not being tough enough. For not being more of a man.

There was an anger that welled up inside Taylor. Matty was being made to feel like he was inadequate, that he was inferior when he was really just a person with good morals. It was so different than what Taylor was used to, and something that he admired in his friend. He didn't want that side of Matty to fade away.

"Better that way," Taylor said, taking a hit of his cigarette. Matty scoffed and shook his head back and forth.

"Sure it is," he replied; voice laced with skepticism.

"I'm serious, Matty. You're not the wrong one," Taylor said in return.

He saw Matty look at him out of the corner of his eye, not saying another word; just staring. He didn't want to meet Matty's gaze, for whatever reason. Maybe because Matty had a way of tearing down his tough guy disguise, which he so heavily relied on. But Matty wasn't letting up, so Taylor finally turned his head and looked back at his friend. Their eyes met and they studied one another for a good few seconds. Matty's brows were creasing, creating a wrinkle in his forehead. His eyes were searching him as if to ask, 'do you mean it?' His jaw muscles tightened and untightened. It was an expression Taylor wasn't used to seeing on his friend and he came to realize that that was probably the first time Matty was told that he was alright being the way he was.

Both looked away at the same time; Matty down at his pale hands and Taylor at some random spot on the water.

"Thanks, Taylor," Matty said, and it was hardly audible, but Taylor had heard it all the same.

* * *

**Present**

Once Matty and Taylor made it home from Queen (around 9:30 pm), both men changed out of their clothes and put on some pajamas. Matty wore a comfortable white t-shirt with black pajama bottoms while Taylor wore a white tank top with gray pajama bottoms (he'd taken off his necklace, rings and watch). They got comfortable on the black couch, sitting as close as they always did, and watched boxing for a good while. It was something both of them enjoyed; it wasn't that Taylor didn't enjoy baseball and basketball and golf, but he was actually passionate about boxing. He always had been, since he was a little kid.

While watching a match between Mike Tyson and Orlin Norris, Matty started talking.

"Imagine that, gettin' a job as a legitimate boxer? I could see you doin' that. Bet you more than half of those guys got criminal records. Some prolly even worse than yours. You don't see it stoppin' them. They're fuckin' loaded, too."

"Nah," Taylor said. "When you make it like that, nothin's a secret anymore. Can't afford to have people lookin' into things."

"Shit. Yeah, you're right," Matty replied, sounding defeated. Taylor forced a smile and looked over at Matty.

"I'd kill the paparazzi anyway," he teased, and Matty looked at him before laughing out loud.

The fight ended after the first round, due to an accidental foul, and Matty took that time to stand up from the couch. Taylor watched as he walked out of sight, over to the corner of the living room by the radiator where his lone chair sat as well as his small coffee table and books. It was where Taylor would find Matty reading, writing, doing the bills. Where Matty made phone calls and where he would sometimes just sit to think, looking out the window. Taylor had a feeling he knew what Matty was fetching at that moment, and he was right. His blue-eyed friend returned with a pack of cigarettes, an ashtray, and his old silver flip lighter. He sat back down on the couch beside Taylor and took two sticks out of the pack. He handed one stick to Taylor, who took it thankfully; placing it between his lips. He watched Matty bring a stick to his own lips, lighting the end and taking a drag before reaching over to Taylor and lighting his. Taylor inhaled and once the end was burning, Matty drew the lighter back and closed it with a 'clank' before placing it on the coffee table in front of them. Matty put his feet up on that same table, crossing them.

Neither of them talked the rest of the night, and they didn't need to either; they simply sat beside one another, watching TV, enjoying each other's company and feeling content as they smoked. They shared more nights like this than Taylor could remember.

An hour and a second cigarette later, Matty had fallen asleep; arms crossed over his chest and his lips parted. It wasn't anything new; Matty often fell asleep on the couch when they were watching TV.

Taylor was starting to doze off himself, when Matty began making quiet moaning sounds, as if in distress. Taylor instantly looked over at his friend and took notice of the way Matty's brows creased and the way his chest raised and fell quickly. The way he turned his head to the side, his eyes moving underneath his lids. Taylor knew he was having a nightmare. It had been happening ever since they made it back from Montana, and for good reason. It'd been traumatic for Matty; losing Marbles and Scarpa. Having watched Scarpa get shot, die there right in front of him. Having been betrayed by, and having to kill, his own uncle.

Though the nightmares remained, things were better than they had been a few months before, when they first returned to New York. Matty was never vocal about the pain he was in, but it was no secret all the same. At least not to Taylor. He knew how quiet was too quiet.

Taylor also knew there wasn't much he could do about it, aside from offer his company. So he did what he could. After leaving the life behind, he had more time than he knew what to do with, and so did Matty, so it was rare that they were apart. Some nights he even slept at Matty's, on the couch. He came to realize it was easier than sleeping in his own bed; it never felt right when he went home. After Montana, something changed, and being apart from Matty left Taylor feeling uneasy. Maybe it was because when Taylor was alone in his apartment, pacing the floors or lying awake in bed, all he could see was Matty getting whacked around by Decker. Maybe it was the memory of Teddy pointing his loaded gun at Matty, preparing to fire. Maybe it was the knowledge that no one could be trusted, which left him worried that Teddy, Freddy, and Clueless weren't the only ones out to get Matty; that Benny had some other snake amongst him, who wanted revenge for Teddy's death.

Taylor would try and push all of it down; he'd try and convince himself that Matty would be fine without him, that he was his own man, that Matty didn't need a babysitter. He told himself that he was feeling and thinking too much, that he had to get himself under control.

Whether or not those feelings would have ever faded would remain a mystery because Matty soon ended up asking Taylor if he wanted to move in with him.

_'I mean, it's not like there's not enough room. No use payin' for rent over there when you're here all the time anyway, you know?'_ Matty had said as if he needed to convince Taylor, but Taylor didn't need convincing. Not only was Matty right, but it also meant that Taylor could keep an eye on him; that his friend would be safe. Even if all he did was help distract the man from his memories. There was no one he trusted more than himself to protect Matty.

Though Taylor had rejected Matty's offer of getting him a new bed, bureau, and everything else, Matty had done it anyway. Taylor came to the apartment one day with boxes full of his belongings only to find that Matty had emptied the room he'd used for a gym and transformed it into a bedroom. He'd gotten a rug for the floor, a queen-sized bed with a soft mattress and white sheets, a redwood bureau and a matching nightstand with a lamp. He'd even gotten curtains to match the rug. Taylor was appreciative, but there was something about Matty taking care of him like that that left him feeling troubled. He was used to relying on himself to get things done, was used to taking care of himself.

He was used to taking care of Matty, not the other way around.

After moving in, Taylor took notice of how Matty slowly started opening up again. Whether it was just that the right amount of time passed, or because Taylor's company soothed him, Taylor wasn't sure. But it wasn't long before they started going out to dinner, going out for drinks, just like old times. And soon, Matty had his last named changed to Lamberti (his mother's maiden name) and started putting in applications, ready to start over, start fresh, and live a normal life. He got a job at Modell's, which really seemed to have helped to elevate his mood, and the rest was history.

Sitting beside his friend on the couch, lids heavy, Taylor kept his eyes on Matty. Normally he wouldn't stare at his friend, but with Matty asleep, unaware, he felt at ease to do so. Only once Matty's breathing slowed and he once again looked peaceful -

_'There ya go...'_

\- was Taylor content enough to turn his head and surrender to sleep.


	5. MARIO'S CAFE

Taylor was awoken at around 5 in the morning when Matty had shut the TV off and got up from the couch. The sudden lack of warmth, the sensation that something was missing, that he was not where he was supposed to be, was enough to startle him.

"Sorry if I woke you," Matty said, looking with tired eyes over at Taylor. Taylor sat up straight and rubbed his hand against the back of his neck.

"I'm gettin' a kink in my neck anyway," Taylor said.

"Yeah, the couch'll do that to ya," Matty replied, stretching as he made his way over to the bathroom. Taylor thought to head down the hall, into his bedroom, sleep in his comfortable bed but decided against it when he realized Matty was brushing his teeth (he water was running and he could hear the buzzing of the electric toothbrush). It meant Matty was getting ready for the day.

When Matty exited the bathroom, his black hair gelled and all, he looked at Taylor while heading across the living room to the bedroom in the corner.

"Goin' for a run, you up for it?" Matty asked.

Taylor wasn't up for it. It was just about the last thing he wanted to do minutes after waking, but that didn't stop him from responding with:

"Sure."

Taylor stood up slowly and looked down at himself, at what he was wearing. He decided he'd keep his pajamas on; running in jeans would have been uncomfortable and his pajama pants were enough like running pants anyway. He used the bathroom then went into his room and put on a white sweater with a pair of sneakers, coming out a few minutes later. So did Matty, who was wearing a sweatband around his forehead, a gray jogging suit and his expensive white running shoes. He practically looked like he was ready for a marathon.

"You ready?" Matty asked, looking Taylor up and down before he turned and took his keys off the small table by the window. Taylor nodded, then the two of them left the apartment.

* * *

The sun was only just coming up by the time they arrived at McCarren Park. There was an athletic track there that Matty often ran on, and though Taylor had never really considered himself much of the running type, he'd accompanied Matty on that track quite a few times since they'd been living together. Both of them stretched and then the two of them started jogging.

Taylor looked up, looked around; taking it all in. The sun was peeking over the tree line, the sky was red and orange and pink and purple and blue. The birds were starting to chirp and chase one another. The air was crisp and cool that Fall morning and only a few people aside from he and Matty were there. There was something peaceful about it, being there with his friend; knowing that he was alive and well.

"Nice mornin'," Taylor said, and Matty looked around before agreeing.

"Yeah, it is."

After about a half hour, Taylor was panting for breath and his legs felt like they were on fire, but Matty was hardly breaking a sweat; he made it look easy. Taylor was heavier, more muscular, and was used to street fighting, lifting weights, not running. Even then, he wasn't going to give in and he kept up with Matty for as long as Matty went (which ended up being another fifteen minutes). Once Matty stopped running, so did Taylor, and he felt Matty pat him on the back as if to say _'good job'_ or _'we did it'._

"C'mon, I'll buy ya coffee," Matty said, and with that, the two of them left the park and headed for a nearby cafe.

* * *

Mario's Cafe was a coffee shop in Brooklyn that Matty and Taylor had been going to since they were in their teens. It was a decent place; it was old fashioned and dark, it was clean and had real Italian coffee strong enough that you could smell it from the outside.

As soon as they passed through the door, the barista (a black-haired Italian man named Tito) called out to Matty, with a big smile on his face. Matty smiled and raised a hand as he headed over to the counter.

"Eeyyy Matty! How ya doin'?" Tito asked.

"Ey, Tito," Matty responded, and they shook hands. Tito then looked at Taylor and bobbed his head.

"Reese," he said, and Taylor nodded once.

"You guys goin' joggin' or what?" Tito asked, looking the both of them up and down.

"Nah, already went," Matty replied.

"Red Hook?" asked Tito.

"McCarren."

"Nice, nice. Good spot!"

Taylor waited. There were times that Matty's popularity was a nuisance. Everyone wanted to talk to him, get on his good side; either because of his relation to Benny Chains or his thick wallet. Though the owner was good friends with Benny (thus good friends with Matty), Tito was reeking of nervous energy. He acted like he was prepared for Matty to snap his fingers and sentence him to death. Finally, the guy asked what they wanted, and Matty ordered he and Taylor coffees (straight black) and a couple breakfast sandwiches.

"You got it, Matty!" Tito smiled.

Matty and Taylor then went and picked a table (one off to the side, neither of them were too keen on being out in the open) and sat down.

It didn't take long for Tito to deliver the coffees and sandwiches to Matty and Taylor.

"Here you are, gentlemen. Please, enjoy," Tito said, and he lingered for a moment.

"Thanks," Matty said, and he nodded his head at Tito which convinced the man to turn around and head back for the counter. Matty glanced at Taylor before he took a sip from the steaming hot mug.

Taylor finished his sandwich before Matty (as usual) and then he sat still, looking at his friend.

"When you goin' in?" asked Taylor.

Matty dropped the rest of his sandwich soon after and brushed his hands together, making it clear that he was finished. He wrapped a hand around his mug instead, looking at Taylor.

"Nine. We got time," Matty replied. "Whatcha gonna do today?"

"See if I can find work," Taylor responded.

"Yeah?" Matty asked. "Where you thinkin'?"

Just as Taylor went to respond, an attractive black girl suddenly appeared beside Matty. She was tall and lean, had curly black hair and big brown eyes. She wore expensive earrings and a black sweater that hugged her form.

"Oh hi, Matty, didn't expect to see you here," she said, and she smiled down at the man. Taylor fought off his discomfort at seeing Matty look up and return her smile.

"Oh, hey Bridgett, how ya doin'?" Matty asked and he started tapping the table with a couple fingers; fidgeting. Taylor couldn't tell whether Matty was nervous or wanted to get back to the conversation he was having with Taylor. Either way, he was restless; antsy.

"Good. Haven't seen you in a few months," she stated as if to ask 'where've you been?'

"Yeah, well..." Matty started, and he looked like he was at a loss for what to say. There wasn't much he could say; he couldn't tell her about what happened in Montana, wouldn't tell her how he'd spent the rest of the time struggling to recover from it.

"I'm outta work at 8 if you're free tonight?" she asked, and Matty's lips parted. He looked over at Taylor very briefly before looking down in thought, lashes fluttering.

"Ah, no, sorry. Not tonight," Matty replied.

"Oh, no. No, no. That's fine. I get it. Maybe some other time," she replied, and she seemed flustered; the rejection got to her more than she let on. Her eyes scanned over Taylor and she smiled the same fake smile Taylor had seen on Tito before she passed by their table and went on her way.

"See ya," Matty said softly, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

Taylor was curious as to why Matty had turned her down; she was attractive, she was nice. She had a decent job, and Matty got out of work at the same time. He wondered if it was their living arrangement; maybe if Matty still had his own place, he'd have taken her up on that offer. Though that didn't seem like much of a reason to turn her down; Matty could have taken her out to dinner, could have taken her to a hotel.

Whatever the reason, it wasn't something Taylor was going to ask his friend; that was Matty's business.

Matty looked at Taylor, and he seemed half-embarrassed.

"So, uh..." he started. "Ya got anythin' in mind? About work, I mean."

Right back into the conversation.

"The usual," Taylor answered, and he took a sip of coffee.

"Listen, I know you're not too thrilled with the idea, but don't forget about Modell's. Say the word and I'll get you in," he said.

Taylor wasn't going to come out and telling Matty his reasons for not wanting to work at Modell's. He thought to say 'not gonna happen', but he knew it'd only lead to Matty questioning him, and he'd be in the same position he was in now. So he did the next best thing and he kept quiet.

The two finished their coffees, both looking out the window in thought. When Matty pushed his seat back and stood up, Taylor did the same, watching as his friend threw a couple $20s on the table. Tito called out and said his good-byes as the two left the Cafe and got into Matty's Mercedes.

They headed home, where both of them took showers and changed their clothes. Taylor got into a sweater and jeans, while Matty got into his work attire; a red and white shirt that said "Modell's Sporting Goods" on it, a lanyard with a name tag on the end of it hanging around his neck, a pair of black slacks and a belt. He looked like your typical, regular guy, and something about that soothed Taylor.

"See ya tonight," Matty had said, and then he left for work, leaving Taylor to himself.

Taylor wasn't going to spend the day alone in the apartment, so he figured now was as good a time as any to start looking around for some "help wanted" signs. He put on his leather jacket and boots then left the house, locking the door on the way out.


	6. OWED VISIT

Driving down street after busy street, Taylor looked around. Some stores he'd already tried, others he couldn't remember whether or not he had because they all looked the same. He managed to find a few "help wanted" signs. He went in, was handed applications, filled them out and was on his way.

Taylor wasn't very hopeful; even if he did get one of those jobs, he doubted it'd stick. No regular job he ever managed to get did; it always ended with him lashing out and quitting, or lashing out and getting fired.

He had that fighter's mentality; he'd always had it.

It was soon after his dad's death that he decided he was going to reach 500 street fights; so bent on proving to himself that he was a legitimate tough guy. Prove not only to himself but anyone who ever came across him. He figured the more he was feared, the less likely it'd be that he'd ever wind up like his old man. Dead on the street.

By around 100 fights, word got around. That's when Teddy Deserve, who had been a friend of his father's through Benny, started asking him to do small jobs here and there. It started with things like setting fires and stealing from trucks; nothing too serious. But then one night, Teddy came to Taylor, asking if he wanted to 'step things up'; if he was willing to take out a man named Franky "Trip" Marino.

At the time, Taylor believed Teddy when he said Marino was the one who'd killed his father. He believed Teddy when he said that he was a 'fucking machine', that he was just like his father, that he was made for that life. So Taylor hunted the man down and shot him in the back of the head, and he didn't feel bad about it either. He took pleasure in it because it meant that the man who killed his father finally got what he deserved (But now, after everything that happened, Taylor wondered if Franky had ever really even killed his father at all or if Teddy had said that just to get him to do the dirty work. Maybe Teddy had a plan for him all the while, just as he'd had a plan for Matty.)

After that, Taylor was said to have _'passed the test_'. Teddy had said he was a _'real man'_ and that his _'father would be proud'._

Marino wasn't the last; Teddy continued to ask for Taylor's assistance; either to beat or shoot some sorry bastard, and Taylor never failed. Each man he killed, each man he beat, he felt was deserving of it; they were all the same, to him. No one could be trusted, no one was innocent. And when he wasn't needed by Teddy, he didn't stop. He continued with his street fighting, with his mission to reach 500.

But Taylor realized now, that that fighter mentality, the rage in him, was coming back to bite him in the ass. It had been useful to be that way when he was doing mobster work, but it didn't help him out in the regular world. His criminal record was practically a novel and prevented him from getting a decent job (possession of illegal weapons, assault, burglary, you name it. He was lucky to have gotten away with only a year in prison) and when he did get a job, he couldn't hold it together.

Though he was aware of all of this, and though he wished he had more self-control, it was easier said than done. When Taylor saw red, he just about blacked out. And though there were times he did try to keep calm, another part of him told him that if he were to change, if he were to lose that rage, that he'd only end up in a ditch. If he let his guard down and softened up, he felt he'd be unable to protect himself. Even worse, if he let his guard down, he felt that he'd be unable to protect Matty. He often was reminded that the only reason Matty was alive was because he hadn't let his guard down.

After having filled out the applications, Taylor was at a loss for what to do; he wasn't used to having so much time to himself. There were no favors, there was no street fighting to turn to. Matty was at work. Taylor was left with nothing more than his thoughts, and he felt bored and useless.

He racked his brain for something to do, and it finally occurred to him that there was someone he really owed a visit. Someone he hadn't seen since he returned to New York those three months ago. And with that, he knew what he was going to do, and headed for Brownsville.

* * *

Taylor drove until he arrived at the brick building, parked and got out of the van. He crossed the sidewalk, stepped up the stairs and opened the screen door. He knocked a few times and then waited.

It took about a minute for the door to open, just a crack (there was a chain lock in place), and reveal a small woman's eye peeking out at him. She shut the door, unlocked it, and then opened it fully.

Danya Reese. She was around 50 years old now but she looked older; she had dark circles under her eyes, she was thin and pale. She looked angry in general, with her dark brows lowered over her brown eyes and a frown on her face.

"Where've you been?" she asked, voice drenched in irritation.

"Hey, ma," Taylor said, ignoring the question. "How ya doin'?"

"Ya know," she said and then she turned around and stepped inside. He followed her to the kitchen, where she was making Chicken Marsala. There, sitting on the table, was a pack of cigarettes. Brows creasing, Taylor walked over to the table and looked at the pack. He knew his mother didn't smoke.

"You seein' somebody?" he asked, picking up the pack and looking inside. There were only four cigarettes left.

"What's it to you?" she snapped. Taylor didn't respond, only looked at his mother with a raised brow before setting the pack back down on the table.

"Adam," she said, calmer this time.

"From the laundry matt?" Taylor asked.

"Yeah," she replied.

Taylor knew Adam; he was a kind, older Jewish man and was the type that wouldn't hurt a fly. Taylor knew he didn't have to worry about him.

"I can't be alone forever. He's good to me," she said.

"He here now?" Taylor asked, looking around.

"No. He's comin' over at 7," she responded, and then she left the stove to reach into the fridge.

"What about you? How's that girl you were seein'? You gonna marry her? You better not be havin' relations with her, Taylor, you know premarital intercourse is forbidden," Danya went on. Taylor clenched his jaw; it was rare that Taylor was actually embarrassed, but his mother always seemed to find a way.

He remembered the girl she spoke of; Abby. She'd been a brown-haired, dark-eyed Jewish girl a little younger than him. They ended up separating because neither of them were compatible; not to mention Taylor was often busy back then, and she wasn't understanding about it. They didn't last longer than two weeks.

"Not seein' that girl anymore," he responded; he'd told her before, that things didn't work out with Abby, but his mother's memory wasn't the best. He watched as the older woman took a can of beer from the fridge. She didn't drink either; must have been for Adam.

"I'm not surprised," she said, handing the can to Taylor before she headed back over to the stove. "Ya never had a steady girlfriend. Is it really so hard, Taylor? To keep a girl? I just want you to have a normal life. I want you to have a wife and kids. Don't you want a family? A future?" Danya asked. Taylor cracked open the beer and took a sip.

"Don't need a wife and kids to have a future," he responded.

"What are you talkin' about? You wanna be alone? Don't you want somebody to come home to?" she replied.

_'Matty's who I come home to,'_ Taylor thought. His mother didn't know he was living with his friend, and he considered coming out and telling her, but something held him back. They were talking about romantic relationships, if he mentioned Matty now, he imagined she'd have a heart attack. If she didn't try and blame Matty for Taylor not having a girl, then she'd start lecturing him about how a relationship between two men was taboo. Not that they were in that kind of relationship, but he didn't want to get into it; it was an uncomfortable topic, for more reasons than one.

"Fine, don't answer me. I'm just your mother, I don't need to know anythin' about you," Danya said, sarcastically. Taylor thought of what it was he could say in response to that and was coming up blank. Fortunately for him, she let it go and instead asked:

"You gonna stay for lunch?"

"Yeah," Taylor replied; he wouldn't have felt right to decline. Not to mention, her Chicken Marsala was hard to turn down.


	7. YANKEE TAVERN

When Taylor got back to his and Matty's apartment, he had nothing more to do than watch TV. He started watching boxing, then switched channels and watched some action movie.

A couple hours later and the sound of the door opening behind him, the jingle of the keys, alerted him of Matty's presence.

"Hey Taylor," Matty said. Taylor stood up from the couch, walked over to Matty and reached out to grip and shake the black-haired man's arm.

"How was it?" Taylor asked.

"Was good," he replied. "Pauly's lookin' to promote me to Assistant Manager."

"Already?" Taylor asked.

"Yeah," Matty laughed, clearly pleased.

"Not surprised," Taylor responded, and he wasn't; his friend had a way of getting what he wanted. He watched as Matty removed his lanyard and hung it up on the rack beside the door.

"I was thinkin' we could head over to Yankee Tavern, tonight," he said.

Yankee Tavern was the oldest bar in Bronx, and was a short walk from the Yankee Stadium. Teddy was the first to have taken Matty, and ever since, Matty had been going there regularly. He'd taken Taylor, Marbles, and Scarpa quite a few times as well. It was Matty's favorite bar, considering how close it was to the stadium, and how many of the big shots had visited; Babe Ruth, Yogi Berra, Lou Gehrig.

"Alright. Haven't been there in a while," Taylor responded.

"Yeah. It's been too long," Matty replied. He then bowed his head and shook it. A smile made its way onto his face, but there was a sadness to it.

"Last time we went, was all four of us. You remember? Scarpa was hittin' on the waitress, wound up givin' her a fuckin' balloon for a tip," he said, and he let out a small chuckle.

"Yeah. Leave it to Scarpa. He was always doin' shit like that," Taylor responded with a smirk.

"Yeah," Matty repeated, softly. There was a moment of silence before he raised his head.

"Anyway, let's get ready," he said. "You're prolly hungry."

That was not something Taylor would deny.

They parted ways, went into their own rooms. Matty came out wearing his trench coat and black slacks with a royal blue button-up while Taylor came out wearing a light-gray button-up with his blue jeans. They came back together, and Matty was smiling that smile that reached his eyes, looking Taylor up and down.

"Lookin' good," Matty said; nodding his head in approval. It wasn't anything Matty hadn't said before, but it still managed to catch Taylor off-guard. He thought to say 'thanks' or 'you too' but nothing came out and he started feeling awkward, just standing there with Matty's eyes on him.

Finally, his friend turned around, opened the door and stepped out into the hall. Taylor followed, shutting and locking the door behind him; Matty never seemed to, but Taylor was a bit more cautious and less trusting.

* * *

Once they arrived at Yankee Tavern, both Matty and Taylor sat at the bar in front of one of the TVs. There was an older Yankees game playing, and Matty's eyes went right for it, scanning the screen for a second before looking away, at one of the waiters; a blonde-haired man behind the counter.

"Heya, Jimmy," Matty said, raising his hand in a sort of wave. He got the man's attention, who turned his head. His eyes lit up and he smiled instantly, dropping everything it seemed as he walked over to them.

Though Matty's relation to his father was at times a nuisance, it also had its perks.

"Heya Matt, how's it goin'?" Jimmy asked.

"Good, good. How ya doin'?" Matty responded, smiling brightly and shaking the man's hand.

"Good. Sup, Taylor?" Jimmy then said, going to shake Taylor's hand. Taylor nodded and gripped Jimmy's hand, shaking it once before releasing.

"Nice seein' ya," Taylor replied. Jimmy was a good kid.

"Yeah, you too. So what'll you guys have? The usual?" Jimmy asked, pointing at Matty.

"You got it," Matty replied, gently hitting his palm against the surface of the counter. Jimmy nodded and let out a quick laugh, then went off.

"Ah, this place'll never get old," Matty said, looking around. He then looked back at the TV.

"Yeah, it's a nice joint. Lotta history," Taylor agreed, looking at Matty, then looking around as his friend had done. Taking in the sight of the posters and pictures up on the walls, all the people in the bar with them. He turned to look behind them, even; really taking in his surroundings. He liked knowing what was going on at all times; liked to know whether or not he was going to get jumped. Most of everyone looked to be harmless.

Though there were two men Taylor spotted off in the corner, sitting at a table. Both were wearing black and their hair was slicked back; they looked like your typical knockaround guys, and their eyes were on Matty. The guy bobbed his head at Matty while talking, words Taylor couldn't hear, and the other man turned and looked.

They seemed to recognize Matty. That wasn't anything new, and Taylor wouldn't have thought anything of it if it weren't for the look in their eyes. They weren't curious, they weren't in awe, they were angry.

Taylor was going to be sure to keep an eye on the fuckers.

"I remember this game. S'from last year," Matty said, which pulled Taylor's attention back to him.

"Yeah?" Taylor asked.

"Yeah, David Wells, Boomer, he tossed only the 14th regular-season perfect game in baseball history. First ever by a Yankee," Matty said. Taylor kept his eyes on Matty, a soft smile on his face.

"There anythin' you don't know about the Yankees?" Taylor asked, teasingly; gesturing toward the TV. Matty looked at Taylor, then laughed, bowing his head.

"Nah, prolly not," he said.

"Been that way since you were a kid," Taylor responded.

"Was all I had, growin' up. Ya know, with pop gone, wi-with Teddy doin' fuck knows," Matty replied, and there was a hint of aggression in his voice towards the end of the sentence. It was the first time he ever really mentioned Teddy since everything happened, and Taylor caught the way he stuttered, the way his eyes almost glazed over and he started biting at the inside of his lip.

"Fuck 'im," was all Taylor could manage to say. Matty kept his eyes on the countertop and laughed a humorless laugh, nodding his head in agreement. Things got quiet, things got tense, and Taylor knew the memories were eating at Matty, so he diverted his friend's attention.

"I know one thing," he said.

"What's that?"

"Twins are goin' down," he answered. The Minnesota Twins were who the Yankees were going against that game. Matty looked up from the counter and over at Taylor, chuckling.

"Fuckin' right," Matty responded, looking back up at the TV.

Taylor smiled, then glanced up at the TV before looking back at the men in the corner. The man facing him was still looking, and this time, their eyes met. Taylor stared, clenching his jaw and glaring. Speaking without speaking; telling them that they'd better not fuck with Matty. The man didn't look away, he wasn't backing down, and Taylor wasn't planning on it either. He didn't back down, not for anybody. He thought of beating their faces, knocking their teeth in, and he rolled his shoulder to prepare for it; to make sure he was good and loose. Finally, the man looked away, and Taylor kept his eyes on him a little longer before doing the same.

Just then, Jimmy returned to them.

"Here ya go, fellas," he said, putting two glasses of beer on the table in front of them.

"The food will be done in just a second, sorry for the wait."

"No problem," Matty said.

"Thanks," he and Taylor said in unison, both lifting their glasses and taking a sip.

The food arrived sometime later; a couple of heroes. Chicken parmesan for Matty and meatball for Taylor. They ate, finished their beers. Full glasses were placed in front of them only a minute after. Taylor didn't want to go too crazy drinking, because he was all too aware of those men in the corner, and if he had to kick their asses, he wanted to be at the top of his game. He couldn't risk letting either of them get at him; they could have had knives, or guns, and if he was stabbed, or shot, what would prevent them from getting at Matty? Taylor drank his second beer slowly, only taking small sips. He hoped the two men would leave, so he could relax, enjoy his time with Matty; not that he wasn't enjoying his time, even with them there. It was a nice night; it was always nice, being with his friend. Being together, it felt right, it felt comfortable.

Taylor looked over at Matty, observing his black-haired friend. He watched the way Matty ran his finger along the glass, the way his legs swayed as he sat there with his long-lashed eyes on the TV. He was always moving, always seemed to have difficulty sitting still. Taylor watched as Matty's tongue darted past his full, pink lips and ran across his bottom lip, wetting it.

At that moment, Matty turned to look at Taylor with those blue eyes of his, and Taylor looked away, taking a sip of his beer.

"Would ya look who it is?"

Taylor quickly turned to look at who was speaking to them; he had a hunch, and he was right. It was the men from earlier, the ones who had been eyeing him and Matty.

"Matty fuckin' Dimes," said the guy on the right; the taller, wider guy.

Matty turned around in his seat, looking at the men.

"I know you?" he asked; his usually soft voice going deep and threatening.

"Not personally, but I sure as hell know you. Benny Chains boy," said the taller man. Taylor clenched his fists and turned around fully, puffing out his chest, nostrils flaring. He considered getting up, considered punching their lights out right then and there, but he held back. He didn't want to turn it into something if he didn't have to, but every inch of him wanted to get in between Matty and the men, wanted to tear them apart for even looking at Matty the wrong way.

But Matty had a way with words, and there was a chance that he could smooth things over.

"Listen," Matty began. "I'm not lookin' for trouble, alright? Just tryna have a few drinks with my friend, here," he said, pointing his thumb at Taylor.

"That so? Just tryna have a few drinks, while my old man's buried six feet deep, no thanks to your father? You the one who did the dirty work, you son of a bitch?" the guy asked, stepping closer to Matty.

Taylor couldn't hold back anymore. He stood up and forcefully pushed against the guy with his solid chest muscles, getting into his face.

"Back off," Taylor said in his deep, rumbling voice. "He's out, he's got nothin' to do with it."

"Wait a second. Fellas," Matty said, standing up, hands out. The two mobsters turned and looked at Matty, while Taylor kept staring the guy down. He wasn't going to take his eyes off him; he wouldn't give him the chance to hurt Matty.

"It doesn't gotta be like this," Matty continued. "What do you want, huh? You want money?"

The men looked at each other and laughed.

"Money? Is this kid for real? Last thing I need is money. In fact, I find that insulting. No, what I want from you, is somethin' you're not gonna give to me willingly," said the taller man.

"And what's that?" Matty asked, his own eyes stone-cold as he looked the guy up and down, jaw tense.

"I'll let ya sit on it," he said, and then he looked at Taylor before walking past the both of them.

Taylor's heart began pounding; he could feel it in his head, behind his eyes. It was getting hard to catch his breath. 'You're not gonna give to me willingly' was on repeat in his head; it was a blatant threat. There was no turning back at that point; Taylor turned around and went after the two men. He shoved the door open, the door they'd only just passed through, and he went up to the both of them from the back. He took both their heads and slammed them together, skull to skull. The taller man fell to the ground, holding his head while the shorter guy fell against the hood of a car. Both groaned in pain.

Taylor first went for the taller guy, the one who'd threatened Matty. He clutched his shirt in a fist while bringing the other one hard across his cheek.

"You think you're gonna get to my man!?" he yelled. He punched him straight on the nose, straight across the mouth. The man's head slammed back against the pavement with each punch; there was blood gushing. It was all over Taylor's knuckles and the guy's face.

Taylor took that moment to get up and go for the other guy, who was reaching into his coat pocket; he had a weapon, but he wasn't going to be using it. Taylor head-butt the man hard in the face, breaking his nose. He took the guy's hand in his, twisted it till it cracked and he released the weapon; a pistol. Taylor kicked it down a storm drain, then punched the man in the gut, causing him to bend over, ready to fall to the ground. But Taylor wouldn't let him. He held him up only to knee him in the face, send him flying back. He bent over the guy and punched him, over and over, the same as he did to the taller guy. He didn't stop until the man was unconscious.

Taylor then went back over to the first guy. He bent down, pulled his coat to the side and reached for the pistol in its holster. He took it out and pointed it straight at the guy's face.

"No, no, please..." he plead, and Taylor would have pulled the trigger if it weren't for Matty's voice suddenly catching his attention.

"Wait, Taylor," Matty said, and Taylor looked up from the man underneath him and over to his friend, who stood in the doorway just outside the tavern. His blue eyes went from the man on the ground to the pistol, to Taylor. He had both hands out as if to say 'cool it'. Everything in Taylor wanted to put a bullet in the man's brain, put an end to him; but for Matty, Taylor was able to reel back his rage and control himself. He hesitated before he clenched his jaw and sent the second pistol down the storm drain.

He bent over the man and took his shirt in his fist, pointing with his finger.

"Listen to me, you fucker. You think of touchin' him, I'll fuckin' kill you. I see you anywhere near him, you're done. Done, you hear me?" he asked. The man didn't answer so Taylor grabbed him with his other fist and shook him.

"You fuckin' hear me?!" he yelled, and the man finally nodded.

"I hear ya...! I... I hear ya," he said past swollen and bleeding lips. Taylor delivered one more punch to the guy's jaw, knocking him out. He then stood up straight, catching his breath. He wiped his bloody knuckles against his shirt as he looked around. He'd gotten the attention of some randoms, and he looked them all in the eye as if to ask 'what are you lookin' at?' but as soon as his gaze landed on Matty, his demeanor changed. He softened and loosened; his fists uncurled.

Matty had his eyes on the unconscious man on the ground, and his expression was angry and cold. Taylor stepped over to his friend and looked around once more as he and Matty walked over to the Mercedes.

Once both Matty and Taylor were back in the car, Taylor began to speak.

"You need a weapon," he said.

Matty frowned, looking over at Taylor. Their eyes met and they stared at one another before Matty finally turned away, nodding in agreement. Taylor had the feeling Matty didn't want a gun, didn't want to have to use one ever again, that he didn't want to have anything to do with any of it. Taylor pressed his lips together, pitying Matty though relieved all the same that he'd agreed to get protection.

Matty started the car and drove off, heading back home.

"You alright?" Matty asked, looking down at Taylor's bloodied fists.

"Be fine," Taylor responded. He was used to the pain that came with fighting.

"You gotta be careful," Matty said. "You don't want guys like that holdin' grudges."

Taylor knew that, but he didn't care; not when Matty's well-being was at risk. He'd die for Matty without a second thought if it meant he'd be safe.

"I wasn't gonna let those fucks think they can get away with touchin' you," Taylor responded, and he looked out the window, heart still pounding.

Matty was quiet. He was looking over at Taylor, but Taylor didn't look back. He knew what he'd find if he did, either way; the same look that his friend had been giving him for as long as he could remember. Those questioning eyes, which held a softness that seemed to only be reserved for him.

Police sirens began whooing in the distance from behind, and both of them tensed, looking in the rear-view mirror. Taylor's instant thought was to drive faster, and if he'd been driving, he probably would have. But it turned out they weren't being followed. It didn't help to alleviate his worries, and it didn't seem to do it for Matty either. He heard Matty let out a shaky breath of air and watched as his friend turned on the radio to drown out the sound of the sirens.

"Fuckin' cops," Matty said. Taylor imagined Sheriff Decker and Deputy Ward, and the fire that'd been dying down ever so slowly was reignited as he thought back to the bruises along Matty's ribs, the black eye. He clenched his aching fists and shook his head back and forth. He reminded himself that he'd taken them down, that they got what was coming to them.

Neither of them said anything else the rest of the drive home.


	8. REPULSIVE

A few days passed before Taylor decided it would be a good time to check on the status of his applications. Matty had gone to work and he was alone in the apartment, unable to do much but think and watch TV, which was really getting old. So he headed out and stopped by the first little grocery store he'd applied to.

"I'm sorry, the position has been filled," said the hiring manager as soon as Taylor had arrived; she was a woman who looked to be a few years older than him. She was smiling, but the smile looked far from sincere, and her blue eyes held the smallest hint of fear. Taylor wanted to tell her, that she didn't have to be afraid, that he wasn't who she thought he was. But then he thought, maybe he was exactly who she thought he was. Anything she'd heard about him was either the truth or wasn't too far from it; he fought people. He'd killed people. He was the son of a mafia soldier.

"There any other positions available? I'll take anythin' at this point," he said instead, looking around the store.

"I'm afraid not," she said, and Taylor knew she was lying, something in the way she said it, but he wasn't going to push it. She seemed frail, sensitive, and he didn't want to upset her. He clenched his jaw, pressed his lips together, and nodded once before turning around and leaving.

Heading back to his van, Taylor heard a voice behind him.

"Tough findin' a job these days, huh?"

Taylor quickly turned around, menacing eyes directed at whoever it was. It turned out to be Roberto "Repulsive". He'd been one of Benny "Chains" soldiers who hadn't gone with the others to Montana. Taylor had worked with him a few times when doing jobs for Teddy (technically Benny).

The man was dressed in black, was slightly over-weight and only about five and half feet tall. He was an older man but carried himself proudly and effortlessly. He had black brows (the left one was sliced down the middle by a scar) and eyes as dark as the night sky.

"Repulsive," Taylor said, in a sort of greeting.

"That's me," the man said. "How ya doin', Fists?"

Fists. That was the name Taylor went by when he'd worked for them. Teddy had come up with it a long time ago and it stuck.

Repulsive stepped closer and extended his hand, so Taylor did the same, and shook it.

"Been a while," Taylor said, avoiding answering the question.

"Sure has," Repulsive responded. "So. You did a number on those guys at Yankee Tavern the other night."

Taylor's brows lowered angrily.

"You been followin' me?" he asked.

"Nah, nothin' like that. Been goin' there before you were born, kid. Just so happened to be pullin' up when you were in the middle of poundin' the fucks. Thought you were gonna murk the bastards. Woulda been nice if you did. They've been a problem. Anyway, figured I'd drop by, thank you in person," Repulsive answered. It became clear to Taylor that Repulsive had taken Teddy's place as Benny's Capo.

"That all you're here for?" Taylor asked, and he knew it wasn't. Repulsive laughed, bowing his head.

"No pullin' the wool over your eyes, huh?" he teased. "Alright, well, in that case, I'm not gonna beat around the bush, here," he said, and he stepped closer to Taylor.

"We could really use a guy like you. We're short on men after the shit-show with Deserve and you've got what it takes. Hell, you survived a show-down with the man himself, if you don't got it, nobody's got it," Repulsive said.

"Nah, man, I'm out," Taylor responded.

"Wait a minute, just listen to me, would ya?" Repulsive said, and he sounded desperate. "Listen, I know what it's like, tryna find a job with a record like yours. Next to impossible. Nobody'll hire ya."

Taylor was about ready to get in his van and leave, he didn't have the patience for Repulsive's manipulation, but disrespecting Repulsive was never a good idea and so Taylor stayed still, looking the other man in the eye.

"'Cept guys like us," Repulsive continued. "I got a job for you, and believe me, I'll make it worth your while."

Taylor hesitated as he thought. A job meant money, and by the sounds of it, it was going to be a lot. He was going to need cash soon; mooching off of Matty wasn't an option, and he thought, maybe if he did just one job, it'd help to float him for a while until he found something. Just one job.

"What's the job?" Taylor asked.

"Need you to whack somebody," Repulsive answered.

"Who?"

"Marko Fearless Cancio," said Repulsive.

"Marko Fearless?" Taylor repeated, surprised. The guy was a well-known underboss and was not someone you wanted to fuck around with. He had eyes on every street in New York. "Fuck."

"Yeah. I know you were lookin' to leave this behind, but if you come in with me, you won't be sorry. You've got a chance here to make a good buck. A real pretty penny," Repulsive said.

"How much?" Taylor asked.

"$30,000. And if you get it done, there'll be a lot more where that came from. You murk the guy and you're in, no questions asked," said Repulsive.

Taylor didn't respond.

"I'll give you some time to think about it," said Repulsive. "I'll be at Monte's, 6:30 tonight. You don't show, I get the hint. I'll leave ya alone. But if you do show... You won't regret it."

And with that, they parted ways.

* * *

As Taylor drove, he thought of Repulsive's offer; thirty-thousand was no joke and he knew he could get a job like that done with little to no effort. The guy wouldn't have even seen him coming. It would be quick, painless, and he'd be paid a good amount, a real fuckin' good amount. He'd be able to take care of himself, no problem. He'd be all set; he'd be able to take Matty out to dinner, or where ever else his friend wanted to go. He could even have given some cash to his mother. And with everyone turning him down, there didn't seem to be many (if any) other options.

He continued that day with checking each location, and he was given the same story every time, just by a different face. Nothing was available, the position was filled, he didn't have the experience (all bullshit, but amounted to the same thing). It was nothing new, nothing Taylor didn't expect. Just more of the same, and going back to it all, the life, was starting to sound more and more appealing. There was a comfort that came with the idea of doing what he'd always done. He was used to fighting, he was used to killing, he was used to life as a mobster.

But was it worth it worth the risk? He was out, for the first time since he was 10 years old. He had a new life, a normal life...

Or did he?

There was one last place Taylor had applied to, and when he arrived, he parked his van on the side of the street, got out and went inside. Another bodega; nothing special. In fact, it was far from special; it was small and crowded and smelled severely like body odor.

Taylor walked over to the counter and he quickly realized it was the owner that'd been smelling up the joint; an older Indian gentleman with a name-tag that read "Ramesh".

"I came in the other - " Taylor began, trying to ignore the judgmental look in the man's eyes as he spoke, but he was interrupted. Just then, right outside the store, there was the sound of a car horn, which was common and wouldn't have meant much if it hadn't been accompanied by a scraping noise and a woman's cry. Taylor quickly turned around, half-expecting to find that some poor girl had been hit, worried that he'd have to run over and take her to the hospital, but he instead found that someone had managed to scratch the side of his van in an effort to avoid her.

"You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," Taylor said, disbelievingly. Though it was relieving that the woman hadn't been crashed into, it was also the third time he'd been hit that year, and he wasn't even driving this time. He was starting to think that he should get something smaller, especially now that he wasn't hauling the lottery machines around (he'd sold them to the owner for the extra cash), because apparently avoiding his van was too difficult for these people.

Taylor quickly left the store, eyes locked on the man who'd hit his van. The guy looked as if he was eager to drive off but the streets were so crowded, he was unable to. Taylor walked over to the man's window. He was going to give the guy a break up until he started to speak.

"That your van, asshole?" the man snarled, already defensive; bobbing his head toward the black Dodge ram van. Taylor had to hold back from pulling the guy out of the window and pounding him into the cement right then and there. After a day of being denied any job, after a day of judgmental stares and lies, Taylor's composure was starting to wane.

"Yeah, it's my van, and you hit it. So you're gonna get outta the car and give me your information," Taylor demanded.

"Eat me, faggot! You park like that, expect to get hit!" the man yelled.

That was it.

It didn't take Taylor more than two seconds to punch the man square in the face. His head jerked back and his hand instantly went to his bleeding nose.

"Fuck! The fuck's the matter with you!"

Taylor then took his fist and punched the side of the man's car over and over again, covering it in fist-shaped dents.

"Stop! Wait, stop! I'm sorry, alright!" the man hollered, but when Taylor didn't listen, the man quickly rolled up his window and when he saw his chance, drove off as fast as he could. Taylor had to jump back to avoid getting his foot run over. He planned to run after the guy, because he hadn't made it far before running into traffic, and Taylor had a crowbar in his van which he was going to use to beat the car with. Eye for an eye.

He turned around, heart pounding, head spinning, and just as he went to reach into his van to get the crowbar, he saw the owner standing in the door way of the bodega. He was just staring at him, and he wasn't the only one either; some bystanders had their eye on him, and they looked him over, as if criticizing. The store owner shook his head back and forth and then went back inside, and Taylor knew what it meant; he wasn't going to hire Taylor. It was unlikely that they'd have hired him anyway but now it was a definite.

That was the last straw.

_'Fuck! I'm done! I'm fuckin' done with this bullshit! Fuck it, fuck it all!'_

Taylor's skin crawled, his blood boiled and he wanted to shout out loud and tear somebody apart. No matter how hard he tried, he always ended up in the same position, and he was sick of it. Sick of people taking advantage of him, sick of people looking at him like he didn't belong, sick of the feeling that came with incessant rejection.

More than any of it, he was sick of trying to hold it back. Being a regular citizen, that could work for a guy like Matty - not for a guy like him. He didn't understand this world, these people. He didn't know how to be like them, he couldn't be like them, but a mobster, that was something he'd always been, something he was used to.

Everyone saw him as a stone cold killer, and that's exactly what he was. There was no denying it; he couldn't pretend anymore. He was his father's son.

Taylor hardly realized he'd taken the crowbar and was in the process of swinging at his van, damaging it even more.


	9. BETTER LEFT UNSAID

It was 6:25 by the time Taylor made it to Monte's.

Monte's was an old Italian restaurant on Caroll Street. Inside was dark, dimly lit, with brick walls. There was a bar off to the right and tables and booths to the left.

Taylor found Repulsive sitting at the bar. He held a glass of whiskey in his hand as he waited and when he spotted Taylor, his frown slowly turned into a smile (it looked to be genuine, but Taylor knew the guy was good at putting up a front). Taylor walked over and sat at the counter beside Repulsive.

"I'll do it," Taylor said in his rumbling voice. Repulsive nodded.

"Alright," he said, and he took a thick manila envelope out of his jacket and handed it to Taylor. Taylor took it in his hand and put it in his own inner coat pocket.

"There's the money, a couple addresses... you know how it works," Repulsive said. "I don't have to tell ya not to fuck this up, right?"

"I know," Taylor responded. That's how it was; if you didn't succeed in killing the man you were paid to kill, then you were hunted down instead. It'd always been that way and even if it should have worried Taylor, it didn't. He always got the job done.

"Wonderful," Repulsive said, staring at Taylor with a small smile on his face. Taylor thought to leave but Repulsive had gotten him a drink.

"So. How're things?" Repulsive asked.

"Ya know," Taylor said, picking up the cup of whiskey and taking a sip. He didn't want to get into it, didn't want to give Repulsive too much information. He didn't trust the man as far as he could throw him.

"Yeah? How's Matty doin'?" asked Repulsive.

Repulsive having seen Taylor at the Yankee Tavern was a good indication that he knew he'd been there with Matty; and though Repulsive had said that he wasn't following Taylor, that he just so happened to come across him, there was the chance that he'd lied. Taylor wondered if the man had been following him, or worse, had been following Matty, perhaps to report back to Benny. He wondered if Repulsive knew the two were living together; if he knew where Matty worked. Those thoughts he'd had months back of someone seeking revenge for Matty having offed Teddy came back to Taylor and he started grinding his teeth together, tightening his grip on the cup. He flashed Repulsive a threatening look. Repulsive knew what he was capable of, and he wanted to remind the man, in case he did have some ulterior motive. His look said what words didn't: 'you fuck with Matty, you so much as mention Matty, and you're gonna be sorry'.

"Touchy subject, huh?" Repulsive said, letting out a quick laugh. "Settle down, big guy. Just tryna make conversation. Might be a little curious, too, I mean... the kid hasn't shown his face in months. The boss is wonderin' about him. We're all wonderin'."

When Taylor didn't respond, Repulsive took the hint. He was oddly accommodating and went onto another topic. They talked about cars, guns, certain restaurants and alcohol. Repulsive shared with Taylor a few stories from his past, stories which the other man found funny. And though Taylor didn't care to hear any of it, he was respectful. He knew that especially now, he had to stay on Repulsive's good side. They partook in small talk for an hour or so before Repulsive (finally) announced that he was going to head out.

"S'on me," he said, throwing an unnecessary $100 on the table. Then they shook hands before parting ways.

Once Taylor left the restaurant and got into his van, he pulled the manila envelope Repulsive had given him out of his inner coat pocket. He opened it and looked inside; there were 4 thick bundles of money. It was more than he'd made at once in a long time and a feeling of relief washed over him. Taylor stayed parked and took the time to count the money; it was unlikely that Repulsive would screw him over but he had to be sure. It took a while but it was all there; three-hundred 100 dollar bills.

Taylor put the money back into the envelope and instead took out a piece of paper. It was a small thin piece of paper with a couple address written on it; one labeled as a "Home" address and a second labeled as a "Girlfriend" address. Under those addresses was the name of a restaurant Marko attended - John's (an Italian restaurant on 12th street).

Taylor had three locations, his pistol was right in the glove compartment and he had a silencer. It seemed easy; he just had to figure out the guy's schedule, find the right moment, and do the job. He planned his first shot would be either right between the eyes or right in the back of the head; an instant kill.

He decided he'd get started straight away; the sooner he killed Marko, the better. He would start by visiting the first two addresses, and if he didn't get the chance to kill Marko at either of them that night, he figured it'd at least help to familiarize him with the locations (he already knew where John's was; he and Matty had eaten there before).

The first address was in Staten Island and it took about a half hour to arrive. There was a huge, white house with a big front yard, a couple tall trees and a white fence. It had a long drive-way and Taylor knew it wouldn't be easy getting a good shot in from the street, in his van. He looked for where the mailbox was located, which was just at the end of the drive-way. Taylor imagined it'd be easiest getting a shot in when Marko was getting the mail. He wondered if Marko was there, now, but he didn't see any car other than a blue punch buggy (definitely not Marko's) in the drive-way so he thought not. Knowing there wasn't much he could do at that location, he started his van back up and began heading for the second location; the girlfriend's place (which was in Manhattan).

When Taylor drove by the apartment, he double checked the address to be sure it was the right place. It was some worn down, dirty apartment building, and it seemed odd to Taylor that a guy like Marko would be interested in a woman living at a place like this. And if he was, he apparently didn't care enough to help her move out. Either way, it was the correct address, and it wasn't his job to study Marko; it was his job to kill him. He tossed his inquiries aside and looked along the street; he didn't spot any expensive cars nearby. He gave the building another look, checking the windows to the first floor (the girlfriend's floor); none of the lights were on either. If Marko was there, he wasn't making it obvious. Taylor looked around for parking then sat still for a good while, waiting. About an hour and a half later, he came to the conclusion that Marko was most likely not at this location. So he decided he would go home.

He had time to take care of Marko; it was only the first night. Taylor had never taken longer than a week to do this kind of job.

* * *

It was 10:30 pm by the time Taylor made it back to his and Matty's apartment. He opened the door quietly and stepped inside, assuming that Matty was asleep; shutting and locking it behind him. But as soon as he turned around, Matty opened the door to the bathroom and stood in the door way, looking at Taylor. Steam rushed past him and into the living room. His torso was exposed; he had a white towel wrapped around his waist, his black hair was slightly wet and it curled over his forehead. He'd just taken a shower. He had a toothbrush in his mouth and his brows were raised, as if in surprise. Taylor looked his friend up and down and swallowed.

"Hey," he said, standing there; dumbfounded.

Matty gave Taylor the same once over that Taylor had given him and hesitated before he bobbed his head at Taylor as if to say 'hey'. He returned to the sink just after, to finish with brushing his teeth.

Taylor walked further into the room and once Matty finished brushing his teeth, he came out of the bathroom. He patted Taylor's shoulder on the way passed him.

"Night, Taylor," he said.

"G'night," Taylor responded, taking notice of the way Matty's fingers gently ran down his arm. He turned and watched as Matty disappeared into his room and once the door was shut, he sat down on the couch.

Taylor knew Matty was wondering where he'd been and why he'd come home so late. His friend didn't have to say anything for Taylor to realize what had been going through his mind.

How Matty was going to take it was something he hadn't really considered when he accepted Repulsive's offer; he'd been so preoccupied with his own situation that he hadn't thought much about how Matty was going to react when he found out. He wasn't used to that way of thinking; he was used to being there to protect Matty, worrying about his friend, but he wasn't used to being worried about. He usually just did what he did without having to take another person's feelings into consideration.

Taylor refused to lie to his friend. He would never come outright and deny what he was doing, if Matty asked. Though for the moment, Taylor decided, he'd keep it on the down low. Just the way it'd always been; he'd never gone into detail with Matty about the work he did. Matty just knew, mostly through Teddy, through Benny, but Taylor had never been the one to talk about it, and he didn't want to start. It was negative and ugly and he knew it was the last thing Matty needed, after everything that happened in Montana. He was only just starting to get over all of it; Taylor wasn't going to bring it up.

Some things he felt were better left unsaid.


	10. FEARLESS

Taylor woke up at around six that morning. His first thought went to Marko as he sat up in bed and rested his bare feet on the wooden floor; that day Taylor planned to check the restaurant, John's, to see if the man was there. Taylor would have preferred to do things in a more private setting (so far the girlfriend's place seemed like the best spot to off Marko), though he knew that he'd do it publicly if he absolutely needed to. It was more of a risk to take because there was a greater chance for him to be spotted, either by Marko's soldiers (who would seek revenge) or even just random people who could potentially become witnesses (and have Taylor sent to prison). Though if Marko was there that day, Taylor could have followed him to his car, or followed him where ever he drove off to, which would give him more information and could offer him an opening.

Taylor changed out of his pajamas and got into his day clothes; a black, long-sleeved sweater and blue jeans. He put on his necklace with the Star of David pendant, put on his rings with the same symbol, put on his watch and then he left his room. He spotted Matty, sitting at his favorite chair in the corner of the room, reading the paper with a styrofoam cup in hand.

"Ey, Taylor," Matty said, looking up at his friend briefly before looking back down at the newspaper and taking a sip. Taylor wondered how long he'd been awake, and by the look of things, it'd been some time.

"Hey," Taylor responded as he headed over to the bathroom to do his business. When he exited, Matty gestured to the coffee table near the TV. There was a paper bag and another styrofoam cup set upon it. Matty had gotten him breakfast and coffee. It was something Matty often did and, now that he had more than enough cash, Taylor planned to do the same as soon as he could.

Taylor went over to the couch and sat down.

"The Giants are goin' against the Redskins at Jack Kent Cooke Stadium next Sunday," said Matty; he always seemed to have sports on the brain. "They lost to 'em twice this season already. Here's hopin' they make it out on top this time."

Taylor took a bite of the sandwich then set it down to take a sip of the scalding hot coffee.

"I'm tellin' ya, once your parole's over and done with, we're gonna go to things like this," Matty added. Taylor put his coffee down. He didn't want Matty holding off just because he couldn't go. He wanted his friend to live, to do what he enjoyed doing. He felt like he was bringing Matty down, holding him back, and it made him angry.

"You don't need me," Taylor said, a little rougher than he'd intended. He pressed his lips together.

"Who'd I go with, if not you?" Matty asked.

Matty was popular, Matty was charming; he could have found someone. Taylor thought back to the cafe, thought back to the nice black girl who'd confronted Matty. She would have been more than willing; she was already looking to spend time with his friend.

"That girl from the cafe."

And he didn't want to say it, but Taylor knew deep down that she would have been good for Matty.

Matty hesitated.

"I don't know," he said, softly. It was more than obvious that he wasn't interested in the idea, for whatever reason.

When Taylor finished his sandwich, he stood up from the couch, coffee in hand. He walked over to Matty and leaned against the wall beside his friend, reading some of the headlines on the paper before he got bored and looked out the window at a couple people passing by on their bicycles.

After a few minutes, Matty checked his watch.

"Alright, well, I gotta get outta here," he said, setting the newspaper down on the table and standing up from his chair. He wrapped an arm around Taylor, pressing close against him; smelling of mint and pepper.

"I'll see ya tonight, huh?" Matty asked.

"Yeah," Taylor responded. Then they parted and Matty pat his chest before walking past him and heading out the door.

_'Jesus,'_ Taylor thought and he sighed to himself.

With Matty gone, Taylor decided it was time for him to get started. He took a cigarette and Matty's lighter (they shared, nothing new), got on his jacket and boots then left the apartment. He got back into his van, checking the glove compartment to be sure the manila envelope was still in there (it was), and this time made his way over to John's as planned.

Taylor drove by, parked on the side of the street and tried looking in through the windows without much luck. He couldn't see through, what with the reflection, and he considered going inside. Before he did, he figured he'd check to see if there were any expensive cars parked on the street first. He did spot a couple, a Lexus and a Maserati, and not knowing what Marko drove, he decided he'd go into the restaurant, at least to look around. He opened the glove compartment and took out both his M1911 pistol and silencer, twisting the silencer in place and then putting the gun in his inner coat pocket. He got out of the van, locked it, and headed for the restaurant.

The place was small and Taylor, knowing that he had to act natural, especially if Marko was there, planned to find a table, but they were all occupied. He disguised his looking for Marko as looking for a table, but it turned out he wasn't there (he knew what Fearless looked like; he'd seen him a few times before. Nearly every mobster knew what he looked like).

Taylor didn't waste any time and turned around, going back to his van. If he wasn't at John's, then maybe he'd be at home, so he put the keys in the ignition and drove over to Staten Island.

Once arriving, Taylor parked across the street and took a good look. There was a second car in the drive-way this time and not just any car. It was a ruby red 1970s Cadillac Eldorado. It was in mint condition and a typical mobster's car; there was no doubt that it belonged to Marko, which meant that he was there. Taylor prepared himself; if Marko exited, he might actually get the chance to kill the guy then and there, and he'd have to act fast.

About an hour later, just after Taylor put out his cigarette, Fearless finally exited the house. He looked like he came straight out of the 70s. He wore a striped, gray suit with a fedora. He was tall, thin and clean shaven. His brows were lowered over his squinting eyes as he looked from left to right, adjusting his suit. He was already suspicious. Marko even glanced Taylor's way, taking in the sight of his van. It was brief, but he'd noticed him, and Taylor worried that the seemingly intelligent man was already onto him. He planned to wait a few seconds, until Marko let his guard down, before he did anything. Taylor took his pistol from his pocket, had his hand on the handle of his door. Marko turned around, and Taylor quickly opened the door, only to shut it just as fast. Behind Marko, Taylor spotted a son and a daughter, and the man's wife. The whole family. They were all going out, together.

There was no killing in front of family. Taylor cursed, though it was a rule he agreed with none the less.

The kids were young; the girl looked to be around seven years old and the boy, maybe ten. Taylor hadn't expected to see them, and he had to ignore the ache in his chest. He turned his head away; he might not have felt bad for Marko, but those kids, the wife, they were a different story. Memories of his crying mother, of his own horror at seeing his father bleeding out on the side walk, came back to Taylor but he pushed them down as soon as they reared their ugly heads.

The Cadillac passed Taylor, and he considered following them but decided against it. He couldn't kill Marko in front of them anyway, and he knew if he followed them, Fearless would probably catch on. Taylor knew when to take action, but he also knew when not to; so he instead went to Petey's Mechanic and got his van fixed.


	11. MISSED CHANCE

The next few days, Taylor only saw Fearless once, and he was again with his family. Taylor quickly came to realize that Marko's house wasn't the ideal spot. John's wasn't looking too good either, and as Taylor had originally predicted, the girlfriend's place seemed to be the best option. Taylor hadn't spotted him at her apartment once, but he was aware that he'd not stayed out much later than 11 all that week (for Matty's sake). If Marko was still seeing her, he was seeing her in the late nights/early mornings.

Unfinished jobs left Taylor feeling restless and it didn't help that he was seeing less of Matty, who would give him that questioning look every time he came home late. Taylor wanted to get it over and done with as soon as possible, and he knew his best bet was to stake it out at her apartment.

Once Matty fell asleep, at around 12 in the morning, Taylor headed out. Lo and behold, once arriving at the girlfriend's apartment, he spotted the ruby red Cadillac parked along the curb.

Taylor reached over to the glove compartment and took out of it his pistol with the silencer. He held it in his hand, just staring at the apartment building, and he waited.

Three hours later, and Taylor was irritated and impatient, stuck with nothing to do but think. He thought of the men who'd threatened Matty at the tavern, he thought of being sent back to prison, he thought of what had happened in Montana, what happened to his father. By the time Marko finally exited, at exactly 3am, Taylor was relieved. He was about to kill a man, and he was relieved, just because it meant he could escape his own thoughts.

Marko was close enough that Taylor could have shot him from his van. Heart hammering, Taylor started rolling down his window, but just then, he spotted a thin and pale girl; the girlfriend. She was looking at Marko from the window with her long-lashed blue eyes; smiling with full, pink lips as she put a strand of black hair behind her ear. There was something about her; something that stopped Taylor. There was an innocence in her, and something familiar; he couldn't put his finger on it, but it kept him from pulling the trigger.

She kept Taylor's attention and it wasn't until Marko got into the Cadillac and started it up that Taylor realized he'd missed his shot.

"Fuck," Taylor whispered to himself, and he wanted to punch something but he held back. He didn't want to alert either of them of his presence. He watched with dismay as Marko drove passed him and headed down the street.

_'The fuck's wrong with you?'_ Taylor asked himself; it wasn't like him to be like this on the job. He was feeling too much, acting too little. He couldn't afford to hesitate, he couldn't afford to have feelings. Not where this job was concerned; he had to act, and act fast. He needed to get it done. Either that or wind up dead; either because Marko would kill him or Repulsive. Taylor wasn't willing to die for this guy; wasn't willing to leave Matty behind. Not for this mobster, not for the girl, not for anyone.

Taylor started up his van and drove, not following Marko directly because he knew the guy was intelligent and would catch on. Taylor figured he was heading home anyway, and so he took a different route. It was so early that he could have killed Marko as he exited his Cadillac, on the way to the house door, without the family bearing witness; if he was fast enough.

By the time Taylor got there, Marko was no where to be seen. He waited for a good while before coming to the conclusion that Fearless hadn't been planning to come home at all. For all Taylor knew, the guy could have had another woman waiting for him somewhere. Taylor internally cursed at himself for having not taken the shot when he had the opportunity.

Though, dwelling on it wouldn't have helped. Taylor instead focused on his next course of action. He had taken something away with that night; Marko left the girlfriend's house at 3am on the dot. That had to have been deliberate; Taylor decided he'd check her apartment again tomorrow morning, around the same time. And next time, when he got the chance, he was going to take it.

* * *

It was 5:30 in the morning by the time Taylor got home; he decided that once Matty woke up, he'd take him out to breakfast. He felt it was the least he could do after all Matty had done for him, and after the last few days where they'd hardly seen one another.

Taylor was only somewhat surprised to find that his friend was already awake. Sleep apparently hadn't come easy; Matty couldn't have gotten more than a few hours. He was sitting on the couch, wearing nothing but his blue robe, watching a Knicks game. Taylor heard coming from the TV:

_On a rainy night here in Salt Lake City, Utah, they are rolling into the Delta Center, and every seat will be filled tonight! This is the NBA on TBS and tonight, the New York Knicks take on the Utah Jazz!_

As soon as Taylor closed the door behind him, Matty looked at him briefly before turning back around.

Taylor stepped in further and sat on the couch beside Matty. He looked over at his friend, who rubbed his lips together and ran his hand back and forth over the arm of the couch. Taylor knew something was eating at him, that he wanted to say something. Normally this was when Taylor would speak up, ease into conversation, but Taylor had the feeling that what Matty was working up to getting out was related to his being out late. He knew it'd come out sooner or later.

"You seein' a girl or somethin'?" Matty finally asked, softly. He wouldn't look Taylor in the eye and was trying hard to come off like he didn't care either way, but the discomfort and uneasiness was nearly radiating off of Matty. It was unusual and Taylor wondered if that discomfort was related to Taylor being with a woman or if it was because Matty worried about what else Taylor might have gotten into.

"Nah," Taylor responded vaguely, but he was otherwise quiet.

_'Not worth stressin' over, Matty.'_

Matty crossed his arms over his chest; seeming to have realized he wasn't going to get a real explanation. Maybe he didn't want one, either. Things became quiet as they sat together, watching TV. Matty didn't really say anything, except in response to the game.

_Great knockaway by Malone!_

"Shit," Matty cursed.

_And another New York Knick turnover!_

"Ah, come on," said Matty.

Some time passed and Matty announced that he was going to get ready for the day; get into some clothes. It was then that Taylor decided he was going to ask what he'd been meaning to.

"Wanna go out for breakfast?" he asked. Matty raised his brows, turning around briefly as he headed over to his room. He seemed startled, like he hadn't expected Taylor to ask. Taylor rarely did, so it was no wonder why. Usually Matty was the one who came up with the plans, and Taylor followed.

"Yeah, sure," Matty responded, and so Taylor got ready as well. He took a shower, got into some clean clothes, and then the two headed out.


	12. HOW THINGS GOTTA BE

They went over to Mario's as usual and ordered what they usually did; two black coffees and a couple of breakfast sandwiches. Tito delivered it to them, being as courteous as ever. There were no interruptions this time.

"I got this," Taylor said as soon as they'd finished eating and drinking their coffees, both of them standing up.

He knew having money would give Matty a good indication that he was working, that he had a job, which could lead to questioning, but there was no other way around it. He'd taken Matty out for breakfast, and that involved him paying for it. It wasn't something he could avoid and he hadn't planned to.

"Nah, it's alright. Keep what you got left," Matty replied; making it clear to Taylor that his friend thought that whatever money he had, was saved over from when he was working at 7-eleven. It unsettled Taylor. There was a fine line between not saying something and lying and things just about crossed over that line.

"C'mon, I owe ya. Got plenty, anyway," Taylor responded, honestly, and he threw a couple $20s on the table. Matty stopped, a look of confusion spreading across his face. He looked around in thought and Taylor could practically hear the wheels turning. Taylor braced himself; he knew his friend was going to figure it out; Matty was no idiot. Indeed, Matty's expression suddenly changed and left only a knowing look in his gray eyes.

"You're workin' for my father," he said, dryly. Taylor pressed his lips together and took in a breath before responding.

"Rob came to me the other day," he admitted.

Matty had this habit of holding things back, acting like nothing bothered him, but the smallest of things told Taylor how his friend felt about it; the way Matty pursed his lips as he nodded, the way he lowered his eyes. The way he started breathing faster but was otherwise silent.

Matty turned around, hands going into his pockets as he walked toward the exit. Taylor followed close behind; both left the restaurant and got back into the car. It was quiet for what felt like too long to Taylor before Matty finally spoke.

"After everything that happened?" Matty asked, eyes squinting slightly as he looked out through the windshield.

"Don't worry about me," Taylor answered in his low, deep voice, which only earned him a scoff from Matty.

"Don't worry," Matty repeated. "Yeah."

Neither of them said a word the rest of the ride home, and the silence continued even once they made it back to the apartment and got inside. Taylor ended up turning on the TV, to put some sound into their space.

Matty didn't look at Taylor; there was a disconnect as he crossed over the living room and went into the bathroom. Soon the water started running and Taylor realized his friend was taking a shower. As he did, Taylor stood up from the couch and paced the wooden floor; chest tight. Matty was upset, and because of him, and that was something Taylor wasn't used to experiencing. He'd been there to help Matty through upsets involving other people but he'd never been the one to cause it; not even once (not to his knoweledge, at least). He was only ever there to protect Matty; he'd never been the one to hurt him.

Taylor didn't know how he hadn't seen it coming; Matty may not have been the most vocal about it, but there was never any doubt that he cared. And that was where Matty's unhappiness at that moment was stemming from; his own worry, about what might happen to Taylor.

Taylor was convinced that the feeling in his chest was worse than anything; in fact, if he'd been able to choose, he would have taken a couple more bullets in its place. That he could handle.

* * *

Taylor was standing by the window, looking outside as he thought, when Matty came out of the bathroom, wearing his work clothes. He walked across the living room, and he finally looked at Taylor, and there was that face. That somber, gloomy, dark expression that Matty wore when he was hurting. He went and sat in his chair in the corner, a few feet from Taylor's right side. Taylor didn't turn to look, but he heard the flip lighter, and soon the smell of cigar (and the scented candle) filled the room. Taylor wanted to say something to Matty, to make things better, but he was at a loss. He decided to just let Matty think, let him process. He waited until Matty was ready, which didn't take too long.

"Look..." Matty started, and he rested the cigar in the ashtray as he stood up. He crossed his arms over his chest, eyes on the floor. Taylor turned his head to look at his friend.

"I need you to do me a favor, alright?" Matty continued, raising his head; and he sounded almost sheepish.

_'Fuck,_' Taylor thought, because he knew what his friend was going to ask for, and he'd never been able to say no to Matty.

"Don't keep doin' this, Taylor," Matty said, and he let his arms fall to his sides while shaking his head back and forth. His voice was soft and almost even pleading.

"Take your own advice and get out before it's too late," he added. Taylor looked at Matty, his own brows creasing in pity.

"I mean, come on..." Matty went on. "You're on parole, fifteen more months. You're on thin ice as it is. You wanna go back to jail? What are you thinking?"

Taylor looked away, back out the window. He wished he had a cigarette, that he had something to do with his hands; something to reduce the stress that was building with each second.

"That life, all it gets you is dead or in prison. You said it yourself, and we saw it, crystal fuckin' clear. Teddy, he almost fuckin' killed you. Nearly killed me, too. Marbles and Scarpa, they're dead, man. How can you just, act like none of that happened, like it's no big deal?" Matty asked, shaking his head back and forth.

Taylor tossed his head to the side; it wasn't that he didn't think any of what happened was a big deal. Taylor knew it was a risk, but more than that, Taylor was convinced that there was nothing else for him. He'd tried living the other way and it just simply hadn't worked.

"It's how things gotta be," Taylor responded. Matty shook his head back and forth.

"No, it's not. I told you, I can get you in at Modell's. It doesn't have to be like this," Matty said, and when Taylor didn't respond, Matty stepped closer so they were only a couple feet apart. Taylor tightened his fists, not out of anger for once, but out of anxiety. Matty's proximity, the way he looked from Taylor's eyes to his lips and back, made Taylor feel naked. Matty saw him; he always saw him. The deepest, most sensitive part of him; parts he didn't want to be seen. There was the urge to look away, to avert his gaze, but Matty's blue eyes seemed to have locked his in place. All he could do was stare back at his friend. There was something emotional in the way Matty looked at him; something vulnerable. Taylor's heart pounded beneath his chest; he needed to give Matty an explanation.

"Matty," Taylor started, and he turned toward his friend so they were face to face. "Every job I've had ended with me goin' ape on some fuck. I'm not cut out for this. I'm not like you. I go with you to Modell's and some asshole comes in, talkin' shit, I'mma pound him to the ground, 'cause that's what I do. I fight. S'who I am, it's what I know."

Matty hesitated, searching Taylor. Taylor clenched his jaw and looked away, back out the window. Matty stepped closer. Always getting so close.

"No, you're more than that," Matty finally said, softly. "If it weren't for you..."

He looked down before looking back up.

"I wouldn't even be standin' here right now."

Matty's dark brows were creasing. He was frowning, his pupils were dilated and his eyes were shining. There was a 'thank you' hidden in those eyes, a 'sorry', and something else too. Something stronger. That same look he'd given Taylor under the Brooklyn Bridge ten years ago; the same look he gave Taylor sitting on the bench at the target site.

"How many people you know would be willin' to risk their lives like that, for somebody else?" Matty said and he looked back down at Taylor's lips. Taylor felt something stir with the way Matty looked at him, felt the tingle up his spine. He quickly shut it down and turned away.

"You're not just somebody," he then dared to mutter. It was nothing that wasn't obvious, that Matty meant more to Taylor than anyone else in his life, that Matty was someone special. It'd always been that way, but Taylor had never actually come out and said it.

"Doesn't matter, you did it all the same," Matty replied, in the softest voice.

The both of them were still for a moment.

"Look, I get it..." Matty continued. "You're worried about losin' it. So why don't you find a job where ya don't really gotta work around people? You could be an electrician, a carpenter, that sorta thing. You're good at it, fixin' shit. Modell's, corner stores, they're not the only options," Matty went on. "But Taylor, whatever you do, you gotta get out. Please. Anythin's better than this."

That please, Matty's literal begging, would have been enough to convince Taylor to do anything the man asked of him. Anything at all. If he'd been able, he would have told his friend _'alright, I'm out'_ nearly instantly.

But instead, he said:

"You take a job, you gotta follow through."

That was the way it worked; you took a job, you did a job, no exceptions. Matty seemed to understand; his eyes widened ever so slightly and his lips parted as if in fear. He blinked and then he shut his mouth and nodded.

"Alright," he said, and there was that determined look on his face that Taylor had seen so often during their time in Montana.

"So we do this job. We get it done, and then we fuckin' leave it. For good this time."

We. Matty was offering his assistance; no, more than that, he'd straight up considered himself to be a part of whatever it was he thought Taylor had to do. He knew the risks, and he didn't care; he was willing to put himself in harms way to help Taylor get it over and done with. Loyal, devoted; it was the same way he'd been for Matty all these years. He understood it, but there was still no way.

"I'm doin' this alone," Taylor said.

"The Hell you are. We're doin' this together," Matty responded. "You do what you gotta do, and I'll watch your back."

"Fuck no," Taylor replied.

"Don't gimme that. There's no way I'm sittin' here, thumb up my ass, while you're out there."

"I said no. I mean it. You're not gettin' back into this," Taylor said.

_'Specially not 'cause of me,'_ he thought.

"You got a good thing goin'. Modell's needs ya."

And with that reminder, he looked at his watch; it was 8:45 am and Matty had to go in for 9.

"Should get goin', anyway," Taylor said. "You're gonna be late. Won't look good if you're tryna move up to management." He hoped it'd convince his friend to drop the topic and leave; it seemed to work.

"Shit," Matty said, looking at his own watch. "We'll talk when I get back. Don't go doin' anythin' without me, Taylor."

Taylor didn't say anything; he watched as Matty got his lanyard and his leather jacket, put on his shoes. Matty opened the door, and he looked back at Taylor. Their eyes met and they just looked at one another; Matty was unsure, hesitant.

"Don't worry," Taylor said. "I'll be here when you get back."

Matty clenched his jaw, eyes sad and frowning. He nodded once then looked down and away, shutting the door behind him.


	13. WHAT TAYLOR NEEDS

Though Matty had asked him not to do anything, Taylor left the apartment, just after his friend drove down the street, in search of Fearless. Now that Matty knew what was going on, now that he wanted to join in on it, Taylor was more anxious to get it done than ever. There was no way he was going to allow Matty to accompany him on his task of killing Marko; it was too risky. He hoped that that day, that while Matty was at work, he'd spot Fearless. And if he did, Taylor wasn't going to stop following him until he got his chance and put an end to him. Put an end to all of it.

To his dismay, Marko was nowhere to be found. The man wasn't at his house, he wasn't at the girlfriend's apartment, and he wasn't at John's. Taylor drove around, checked other restaurants that he knew were hot spots for mobsters, but that red Cadillac was no where in sight. He hadn't really expected it to be, but in his desperation, he'd felt the need to look anyway. It was made clearer and clearer that the girlfriend's apartment was going to be it, meaning he had to wait until Matty got home and fell asleep before leaving. It would be difficult, because he knew his friend was going to try and convince him to let him help as soon as he got home. Matty wasn't one to give in; stopping him from doing what he wanted was like trying to stop a freight train. There was self-disgust that came with the realization that it was Taylor's own fault that he even had to worry about any harm coming to Matty over this. If he'd stayed out of it, none of what was going on would have been happening.

* * *

At around eight o'clock, when Matty made it home, it was as Taylor had predicted. Just after coming through the door, Matty didn't even greet Taylor before he was on it.

"About the job," he said.

"Matty," Taylor said, in a sort of warning tone. Matty waved his hand at Taylor as if to shush him.

"I got a pistol in the glove. Got it a couple days ago, when you told me to get protection. Nothin' special, but it'll get the job done," Matty continued. Taylor pressed his lips together and lowered his brows.

"I'm gonna keep sayin' this till you get it. You're not comin' with me," Taylor said. His words had a bite to them.

"So you can come with me to Montana, you can risk your life for me, but I can't return the favor? What is it with you, huh? This here," he said, and he gestured between he and Taylor. "It's not a one-way street, alright? You help me, I help you. That's how it is."

"It's my mistake, not yours," Taylor replied.

"That bag wasn't your mistake," Matty said.

"You don't owe me," Taylor responded. "I did what I did 'cause I wanted to. This, you don't want this, and I don't need any favors. You're gonna stay here and let me do what I do. Alone. You got me?"

It all came out harsh, and though Taylor wasn't too keen about talking to his friend that way, he also felt it was necessary. He felt it was the only way to convince Matty to back down, to back off, and even if it meant Matty would be upset with him, it was better than Matty getting involved in killing one of New York's most famous mob bosses. There was nothing more painful than the idea of Matty getting shot. Matty dying. He'd have risked anything to prevent that.

Matty wasn't answering and his brows were lowered, he was biting at the inside of his bottom lip. He looked irritated, somewhat hurt even. He scoffed and shook his head back and forth.

Things were quiet for a good while. They both sat on the couch, watching but not watching TV. They weren't sitting as close as usual, and Matty had his arms crossed over his chest; closed off. He smoked cigarette after cigarette, then got up and disappeared into the kitchen.

A half hour passed before Taylor came to wonder what Matty was doing and why he hadn't come back. Matty didn't really know how to cook so it ruled that out.

Taylor got up and made his way to the kitchen, to find Matty sitting at the table. His back was to Taylor and he was hunched over a glass cup and a bottle of scotch. It'd just been opened; the wrappings were still on the table. About a third of it was missing and Taylor's heart sank. He hadn't expected Matty to take all of it as badly as he was and it became clear to him that Matty cared a lot more than Taylor had ever allowed himself to know. He started thinking, and he came to realize, how wouldn't Matty have taken it badly? He'd lost Marbles, he'd lost Scarpa, he'd lost Teddy and cut ties with his father. He had nobody at all, nobody but Taylor, and he'd lost all of them because of the mob life. And like an idiot, Taylor went and jumped right back in.

Matty was afraid of losing him. Matty was afraid of being left alone. Taylor stood in the doorway, watching his friend, ridden with guilt.

'What the fuck was I thinkin'?' Taylor asked himself.

Matty looked back at Taylor out of the corner of his eye and then tightened his jaw before taking a sip from the glass cup he'd poured the scotch into.

"Whatever you do..." Matty finally said, sounding quiet and depressed. Defeated. "Just be careful, alright?"

* * *

That night at around midnight, when Matty finally left to go into his room, Taylor made his way out. He headed straight for the girlfriend's apartment, the words 'this is it' repeating in his head over and over again. Indeed, once he arrived, he spotted that Cadillac parked some ways up the street. Taylor parked as close to it as he could get and with his pistol in his hand, he waited.

This was it. He was finally going to kill Marko Fearless Cancio. It was all going to come to an end, once and for all. He'd tell Repulsive he was done, that he wasn't interested in doing anything more, and then he and Matty were going to go back to the way things were. They were going to be regular citizens and Taylor was going to keep looking for a normal job. However long it took. And if he was fired, if he quit, he'd just keep at it. He'd hop around from job to job for the rest of his life if he had to.

It wouldn't be easy but it was the way things needed to be. It's what Matty wanted, it's what Matty needed, and it's what would keep Matty safe.

Nothing was more important than Matty. It never had been, and it never would be.

When Taylor finally caught sight of Fearless, his heart jumped out of his chest. It was time to act, time to bring him down. Taylor looked around the street, and there were some people, but they wouldn't have known any better. Taylor put his hood over his head, opened the door to his van and held his pistol in his pocket. He began to walk casually over to Marko when he suddenly heard gun shots from behind. He quickly ducked.

**Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!**

_'The fuck's goin' on?'_ Taylor wondered. Were they after him, after Marko? Who were they?

Taylor lifted his head and looked behind him. Two men dressed in black fell to the ground. Taylor recognized them; they were the men he'd had beaten at the Yankee Tavern. They dropped their own weapons as they crumbled, gushing blood, to the street.

As they fell, behind them in the darkness, hardly visible as he was wearing all black, was none other than Matty, pistol in hand.

Taylor couldn't take the time to figure it all out; he looked over at Marko; the man was reached into his pocket and he aimed for Matty. His friend hadn't used a silencer, and it seemed that Marko thought Matty was there for him.

_'Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!'_ Taylor thought, and he quickly straightened, ripping the pistol from his pocket, pointing it at Marko. He shot him as fast as he could, emptying his chamber in the tall man.

Fearless had managed to fire one shot before going down. Panic began to well up inside Taylor. His eyes widened and his chest tightened. He quickly looked over at Matty; his friend had gone down just as quickly as Marko.

Taylor couldn't feel his limbs; his tingling legs nearly buckled on him. He couldn't think; his head spun as if he were running around in circles. His heart was pounding mercilessly; he could feel it thumping throughout his entire body. His lungs felt too small; as if every breath he took in was not enough. Nothing in the world existed at that moment but horror as Matty writhed on the ground, clutching at his stomach.

"Fuck!" he shouted and he ran over to Matty, wasting no time as he bent over, one arm going around Matty's shoulders and the other under his knees, and lifted him up from the hard, cold pavement.

Taylor frantically carried Matty over to his van. His friend was pale and looked like he was ready to pass out.

"Hold it together, Matty, hold it together," Taylor said, watching Matty as his friend removed his right hand from his stomach and looked at it. It was covered in blood.

"Ah, shit," Matty breathed out and he shut his eyes, tilting his head to the side and going limp.

Taylor was used to pushing most of his feelings down, but the utter dread and terror he felt at that moment couldn't be surpressed. There was nothing in the world more terrifying to Taylor than the fact that Matty, his best friend, the one person he truly loved, might not make it.

"C'mon, Matty! C'mon!" he hollered.

_'They can take 'em all, take every single fuckin' one of 'em, but they ain't takin' you!'_

Taylor didn't know whether or not he said the last part outloud, but Matty opened his eyes and looked with heavy lids up at Taylor, swallowing heavily. Looking at Taylor as if he was the one thing that kept him awake, that kept him from shutting his eyes.

"Keep holdin' on, I gotchyou," Taylor said. He looked away only to quickly open the passenger door and place Matty as carefully but as quickly as he could onto the seat. He tore Matty's shirt in half, bracing himself for the damage. He was relieved to find that Matty's side, just above his hip, had only been grazed.

"Fuck, Matty, you're gonna be alright. Just grazed ya, you're gonna be alright," Taylor managed to get out. Matty shut his eyes and took a shaky breath, wincing in pain. Taylor shut the door and he quickly got into the van, starting it up and heading for the nearest hospital.

* * *

Taylor waited with Matty in one of the emergency rooms as his friend was given pain killers intravenously and his wound was cleaned, stitched and bandaged. The nurse left and said she'd return soon with paper work and that they could leave just after.

Finally alone with Matty, Taylor felt it'd be the best time to start talking.

"I told you to let me do it alone," he said. Matty looked over at Taylor, brows raised, before he looked away.

"Yeah, well, it's a good thing I didn't, cause if I did, those fuckers woulda killed you," he replied.

"You coulda been killed," Taylor responded.

"That's a risk I was willin' to take," Matty said. "Besides, I wasn't, and I said it before, I'll say it again..."

He looked over at Taylor with a serious look on his face.

"We're in this together," he said. He then looked over at the door of the room before adding quietly.

"We're all we got left, and you know..."

Even quieter.

"You're my best friend. Always have been. More than that, you're... ... shit, I don't know..." Matty trailed off, hardly audible. He tensed, looking ashamed and averting his gaze. He shook his head back and forth.

"All I know is, it's over."

Taylor wondered what it was Matty would have said, if he hadn't tried to suppress his thoughts and feelings almost as much as Taylor did.

Whatever it was, Matty wasn't ready to let out, and Taylor would be patient as he always was.

"You're outta this now, right?" Matty asked, and he looked back over at Taylor with a certain disbelief in his eyes. As if he couldn't believe Taylor had gone back to it, as if he couldn't believe he even had to ask.

Taylor felt like an idiot, to say the least.

"I'm out," he replied.

He realized now that the fighter mentality, the mobster mentality; it wasn't what kept him alive. Taylor didn't need to fight, he didn't need that life. For so long, he'd denied and repressed it, he'd hidden it from himself, the way he felt. But at that moment, it was undeniable.

What he needed was Matty.

"Good," Matty said. "Do me a favor and stay out this time, would ya?"

Taylor took a risk and softly said:

"Anythin' for you, Matty."

_'Anythin' for you.'_

* * *

**_THE END_**


	14. AUTHOR'S COMMENTS

_**This isn't a chapter. This is basically a section for Author's Comments. I figured I'd put it as one chapter rather than breaking up the story with it. Also, this way, it's easier to avoid if you desire to.**_

**Author's Commentary For Chapter One:**

I decided that I would do this story more from Taylor's point of view than Matty's. In the movie, the first scene shows us a young Matty, and shows us what "broke" him. Here, it's the same idea, except with Taylor. Basically saying, this is why Taylor is the way he is. I also felt it would help to show those reading why Matty and Taylor get along so well; they have these similarities and an understanding of one another after the way they've grown up. In the original script, during the scene in the motel room, Taylor says to Matty how he wishes he got to know his own pop "before he was gone". So I imagine this is one of the many reasons as to why he and Matty get along so well. They can relate to one another, what with both having lost their fathers at a young age. I imagine as kids, the two bonded over this and sort of used each other to fill the void which would explain why they are so close.

**Author's Commentary For Chapter Two:**

I didn't want to go too far ahead or start too soon after the end of the movie. I figured a few months would be just right. The movie was filmed in 1999 which is why I chose that year. And considering it's warm and sunny and the trees are alive and blooming in New York during the last scene, I feel it was around Summer time in the movie. So August at the latest. 3 months from August is November and November is Fall, so this story is set during Fall.

Taylor's left it all behind and things aren't looking too great for him. I wrote this out with Taylor's first scene in mind, when the owner of the bodega, Noriega, is clearly shown to be taking advantage of Taylor which results in Taylor losing his shit on him.

**Author's Commentary For Chapter Three:**

Living with Matty is definitely a step up. I feel Taylor moving in with Matty isn't too far fetched; the way they drove away together in the van at the end of the movie gave us the impression that they were off to face the world TOGETHER. There was definitely a sense of togetherness and considering that Matty gave up his car, it makes sense that things could escalate from "I need you to get around" to "Why don't you just live with me?"

Another reason why I feel they would decide to live with one another is the fact that Taylor was all Matty had left after everything that happened. Marbles and Scarpa were gone, Teddy was gone, and Matty's relationship with his father changed once he realized he didn't need to impress him anymore. And he was quite bitter about everything and had partly blamed his father for what happened so it's understandable that Matty will no longer work so hard to be the son his father wants and will have distanced himself. The fact that he gave up his car too feels like it was a cutting of ties.

They say in the director's commentary that Taylor was going to be the one to help "rebuild" Matty after everything that happened. Imagine how terrible things would have been the first few days, the first week, hell the first month? After your friends were killed and you were forced to shoot your own uncle? Matty would have needed Taylor more than ever and it'd have been easiest for Taylor to help rebuild Matty if he was right there, in the same apartment.

I love how Matty saying he missed Taylor is canon. He says it in the deleted scene "The Ballers"; I was sort of paying homage to that. And though they don't ever hug in the movie, they obviously don't have an issue with physical proximity so I don't see it as being over-the-top, especially considering they get that close even in public, never mind when it's just the two of them. And even then, after all that they've been through together, I felt that their relationship would be even stronger than it was previously.

With most of Matty's scenes, I look back to the time before Montana when writing. Matty's not always so moody and anxious, the way he is in Montana. He can actually be pretty funny and kind and charming, very soft and playful. The deleted scenes make that more clear. He actually does mock-punch the air when he greets Joey Hook, which is where I got that from.

**Author's Commentary For Chapter Four:**

I wanted to give a little insight into their past together, as well as point out the fact that the two of them have a bit of an issue with opening up and expressing their feelings. Matty's often seen biting his tongue and Taylor's not much of a talker, either, except when he's with Matty. And even then, there's a part of him that holds back.

There was an actual match between Mike Tyson and Orlin Norris that aired in 1999.

I also wanted to make clear that Matty wasn't the only one who was traumatized by all of it; so was Taylor, but not because of what happened to Marbles and Scarpa, or because of getting shot. It's because of what happened to Matty. I felt it'd be accurate for his character, considering in the movie, he really doesn't seem to care for much else. He considers Matty to be even more important than himself; that's saying a lot.

**Author's Commentary For Chapter Five:**

Considering Matty's love for sports, I imagine he'd be into all of it. In the movie, we see he owns a basketball and a baseball, so that indicates that he does both of those things. He also golfs in the deleted scene, and Joey Hook asks Matty if he wants to bowl. So he plays basketball, baseball, he golfs, he bowls. I just about assume Matty does every sport you can imagine, so I don't think it's hard to believe that he'd be the sort that went running or jogging in the mornings (especially now that he's got more time for himself, after having stopped doing his father's errands).

Bridgett is actually supposed to be Catherine Burdon, who was initially going to be in the movie. They ended up taking the scene out of the movie. She was labeled as a 'sleepy attractive black girl' in the original script, and had been lying in Matty's bed. She leaves soon after waking so it's clear that they don't live together, and I get the impression that they weren't in a serious relationship and that they'd just fooled around.

**Author's Commentary For Chapter Six:**

Taylor really does have a criminal record the length of a novel. In the behind the scenes footage, we're given a glimpse of Taylor's record, and Vin Diesel says "he's a bad mother fucker". It's long but the footage is too blurry to make it out, and I just assumed what was on it.

**Author's Commentary For Chapter Seven:**

I love how in the movie, Matty wasn't even going in to be a Sport's Agent, he was going to be a mere assistant. But he's such a smooth talker, he convinced one of the ladies to send him over to Mr. McCreadle's office. To say the least, Matty knows how to get what he wants, and so I feel that even after only two days, Matty was already looking to be assistant manager and was persuasive enough that Pauly agreed. Matty's not one to settle.

I feel that Matty would absolutely 100% be going to Yankee Tavern. I mean, come on.

All of the info Matty mentions about sports is accurate, as well. I love the idea that Matty has a bit of an obsession with sports; in the movie he says he could 'always count on ball season to keep him company', like he literally relied on sports to make him feel less alone after his pop was sent to jail.

Taylor actually refers to Matty as 'his man' in the original script, after Decker and Ward beat him. I love it. He's not only protective, he's almost even possessive.

Of course, Matty's able to calm Taylor down. All Matty has to do is get Taylor's attention; say the word. I took the change of his demeanor from the scene at the Shamrock when Taylor kicks Brucker's ass. After beating Brucker, Taylor looks around the crowd, as if asking 'you want some?!' but then when he spots Matty, he slows down and softens, does a complete 180. It's subtle but if you're looking, it's a transition you'll spot.

**Author's Commentary For Chapter Eight:**

There were a bunch of men in the basement of Gianda's Catering Hole in the movie, when Matty comes down with the box of cigars. They're all playing craps. Freddy the Watch was there as well as Clueless but there were more men, too. I imagined Repulsive was one of them; the guy on the far left.

I watched an interview with a hitman to get all of this accurate.

And man, if you've ever been to New York, you'll know what I'm talking about. The smelly bodegas, the bad drivers, the hostile pieces of shit. It's all there, believe me.

**Author's Commentary For Chapter Nine:**

Normally, this story was going to be a lot less subtle and a lot more "wham, in your face with that". But it actually felt like it'd be a lot more fun if I HINTED at things instead of came out and stated them. Let's see what conclusions you'll come to.

**Author's Commentary For Chapter Ten:**

In the original script for the movie, Matty mentions to his father that Taylor can't go with Marbles to retrieve the bag of money because he's got 18 months left of parole. It just goes to show you that Taylor didn't risk his life for Matty just once; he risked it just by flying over to Montana with his friend. If he was caught, he would have been sent back to prison, his life would have been ruined, and he did it anyway.

**Author's Commentary For Chapter Eleven:**

Oh, the subtleties.

**Author's Commentary For Chapter Twelve:**

I had the idea that Matty would figure it out quickly; he's not an idiot. Just as quickly as he figured out that Teddy was the one who had stolen from his father, he figured out that Taylor was working for his father.

I wanted to point out the fact that, Taylor can fight anybody, he can get shot, and none of that bothers him, but Matty being upset is enough to leave him flustered. There's something I find hilarious about that but also sweet and quite accurate to his character. He very obviously has a soft spot for Matty.

I have Taylor often looking away from Matty and vice versa, just as they do in the movie. The way they do it, it's deliberate; like they're not just looking away, they're LOOKING AWAY. It happens through out the entire movie, where you'll find Taylor watching Matty without Matty knowing, Matty watching Taylor without Taylor knowing, and then when they actually make eye contact, either one or both of them end up looking away. At times, it's even awkward, and I got the idea that it may be related to the fact that the both of them feel exposed and vulnerable, because of how well they know one another. They both have weaknesses that I feel the other is able to spot, which at times is difficult for the both of them to deal with, considering how they grew up. Though there are those moments where the two of them realize that if they can't trust each other, who can they trust?

In this story, the script is basically flipped. Matty is for Taylor what Taylor was for Matty, and Taylor's situation is what was Matty's situation. Basically, Taylor can't find a job so goes to the mob (again).

I took the bench scene into consideration when I wrote this. On the bench, Taylor tries convincing Matty to leave. Not just Montana, but "all of it". Yet when Matty asks Taylor why he's not leaving, Taylor avoids the question like the plague and tries redirecting the attention back to Matty. "I said you. We're talking about you, here." In the director's commentary, they came out and said that Taylor feels he can't leave. So I took all of this into consideration; I have him feeling like being a part of the mafia is all he's got, all he knows/understands.

Taylor mentions in the movie that "Teddy uses him when it suits him" but that he "doesn't get carried away with it". So I feel that means he did jobs here and there, most likely worked as the "muscle", but that he won't ever go beyond "associate" level. Even in this story, he's not more than an associate, though Repulsive is offering to promote Taylor.

This is what a Mafia "family tree" looks like:

Boss - Underboss - Capo - Soldier - Associate

(So for example. Benny "Chains" is an Underboss. Teddy was a Capo. Freddy the Watch and Billy Clueless were soldiers.)

Associate: Associates are not actual members of the Mafia, but they work with Mafia soldiers and capos on various criminal enterprises. An associate is simply someone who works with the mob, including anyone from a burglar or drug dealer to a lawyer, investment banker, police officer or politician. Associates can be relied on to commit acts of intimidation, threats, violence and murder.

**Author's Commentary For Chapter Thirteen:**

And it all comes to a head. This chapter is parallel to the first chapter, where Taylor's father is shot and killed. This time, Matty was shot (and fortunately not killed, but Taylor didn't know that initially). Not only are those chapters parallel, but the entire story is parallel to Matty's. His story is much like Matty's, only backwards. This time, Matty got shot saving Taylor.

The story ends with Taylor moving on from being his father's son, to being whatever Matty needs him to be. There's a change in perception from 'gotta fight to stay alive' to 'gotta stay away from it to keep Matty alive'. Matty is ultimately what and who Taylor needs.

I feel that much was true in the movie, as well, just with Taylor being what and who Matty needs. That look in the jeep when they're driving to the airport, just after the incident at the beef terminal, speaks more than words. Matty looks at Taylor and there's so much in the expression. There's guilt, there's shock, and then he comes to some sort of epiphany. Just after this scene, Matty tells his father he's out, he's done. To me, it meant that Matty realized, he didn't need to be what his father wanted him to be. He didn't need his father. He had Taylor.

There's so much in the movie that's not spoken, that's said through action, through glances, and I wanted to do the same in my story, as best I could.

I ended the story with Taylor finally coming out and saying exactly what he's thinking. Maybe Matty getting shot was a bit of a wake up call, pushing him to take chances and open up a little.

_**Anyway, that's it. Let me know how you liked it and leave a review/comment if you have the time.**_


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